How -not- to cook a fish.

How -not- to cook a fish.

A man’s belly is his heaven.
Even when he sought for -you- an haven
With his buds switching and secreting more
enzymes -for you-
His pots know no pain
His pots know no pain, you think?
Even when his manual -of you- has been read
He comes hook, line and sink
and a well laid out plan of how
to fish you, fish, out.
He jokes with your waters.
Asks ‘Little fish, if i pick you up,
would you still live?’
Or, ‘Are you sure fishes don’t drown?’
Dear fish,
You wriggle at first,
with a protest on your lips
and a gurgle you gave.
Did you know silence was consent?
Truth be told,
He never did need your nod
As you swam to him
With no need for the bait and two beady set of eyes
For the one who has got
Seasoning and seasons for you.
He takes you to mama
His own hearth.
‘All for you my little fish’,
those were his words, right?
You found comfort
even when you shouldn’t be close to heat.
You struggled to breathe
cause you thought his love couldn’t choke.
No heat, no pressure
Until you lay on the matrimonial chop board,
then you remember, -as he
raises that shiny object up,
ready to ram into you-
You should have stayed in the waters,
-tried out oceans and lakes or valleys-
Stayed in the water regardless.
On that day, little fish,
you will learn that he cooked you
long before you became little fish.



One thought on “How -not- to cook a fish.” by gee dee (@GoldDebbie)

  1. Funny, really.
    “Matrimonial chop board” eh!
    Beautiful write. I like the fresh way you take up these well pandered subjects.
    Thanks for sharing.

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