I am am no expert

I cry two eyes

I cannot rap onstage

I eat Nutella like an Egyptian Queen

I make the spoon a candy

people get nervous in small talk in elevators

they wonder if they have headaches

when people my age go dancing

I paste coupons in an album

when a strange number calls I leap to the phone like flames

my plants sag

my basil withers with low self-esteem

Egyptian Queens smell really strange but that is half the fun

their headdresses fall in their soup

their soup was made by slaves

their lovers are not proud

their Nutella is spooned incessantly

throughout dragging afternoons

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