Now, I’m not a poet and I don’t pretend to be
I don’t rhyme and I don’t intend to try
(see how this isn’t a couplet?)
Violet Beauregarde turns into a blueberry
Violet Beuregarde is a contrived blueberry
Turns, turned into a contrived blueberry
Waiting to burst
Flavoured and possessed by ebbing emotions: rapid and frustrated. Swelling but stifled. Spiralling but contrived as she sees my face. Spiralling and surging but also remaining still. Juices of hurt swell from her throat. Lumped. I see the lump. Clip it, clip the air bubble, and don’t you dare show anyone a single tear. It’s not your time to burst today. It’s not your time to go to the juice room yet, Violet Beaurgarde.