Mila Ponce

Three tan peaches in a bowl,
The pink flesh of the girl you love.
Skin flushed red and tangerine,
Vibrant, honeysuckle sweetness.

She’s real smart, and pretty, too
All you have left is a slip of paper
And the three peaches you peel at
Longing for her skin between your fingers

Hoping you don’t bruise her, careful
Your fists are horned and your lips licked
You cracked open every peach pit
And you left that beautiful girl a husk.

Dwelling on it, you want to consume her;
Eat up the cyanide & you didn’t care
Sink her down; make yourself whole
Paint her over with your stomach bile

But your tongue goes numb and limp
Lord knows it wasn’t guilt for her, no;
The universe was pushing you off its edge
Growing & flourishing while you choke
On the doll parts of that beautiful girl.

–

Mila Ponce is a teen poet from Chicago. Her poetry often focuses on finding beauty in the morbid & learning to grow from pain.