I wonder what you would want from me,
if I told you my sweetness was bitter.
All my life sour has become of me,
yet I’m told I am sweet like sugar water.
I have enough strength to appear fresh on the outside
but if you cut me with a knife, there is rot.
How many ingredients do you assume I need?
Will it be enough?
The spoon that gags my mouth is full of poison
that I have learned to swallow.
It is equipped with jagged edges that leave
scratches inside my throat that will never heal.
The lemony scent still lingers
and the jagged spoon won’t release its hold.
But as they say, “When life gives you lemons,
you are born with a spoon in your mouth.”
Rachel Scott
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