Honey

When I was 5, I had my fill on the honeyed words that dripped right from your lips into my ears. Hidden in their sweetness were the sickening barbs of self-doubt and disappointment, but I was 5, and the taste lured me to your van, so I let you snatch me up.

By 11, belly bloated and tongue swollen, I sat in your front seat, rolling down the window as we passed kids on lonely streets, and I held out sticky fingers to lure anyone who would listen.