I’m a dumb bitch because I do shit like

ask people to tell me what kind of potato I am

and believe them
I’m biting myself on the arm

I’m biting myself on the arm

because you told me not to but also

because it feels like. . . . . . . .  a treat
I’m a contrary little piglet when I want to be

constantly nuzzling towards sensation
It’s so much more comfortable inside the myth
Am I at my best soaked in cream and pepper?

Do I seem like someone extruded

into a more appealing shape? 
I like to leave the broken pegs in the washing basket

For myself as a little surprise

Because: without struggle

there is no growth

I like to make up lies for myself

and believe them
(I am the unstoppable force

and the immovable object
I am a Red Desiree

sexy anthropomorphic tuber

heavy-lid cigarette eyes

strung with pearls

smiling smiling smiling at you

in my sexy potato heels 
I am a very special baby

who would

                          never

                                                 ever

                                                               do anything wrong)
I like to believe them so often

I forget they’re untrue

                                                                          this is called magic 
I like to say:

If my self-knowledge wasn’t this powerful

I’d never be able to outsmart a genius like me
I tried breaking a plate once when I was angry

stood on the kitchen lino and thought fuck it

I deserve this catharsis
What’s not very satisfying when you’re angry

is

                                     relying on other people

for your entire sense of self
                           Turns out

I’m a boiled potato

skinless                        swimming in butter
             Turns out

I’m a forgotten bowl of Mccain’s Potato Smiles

gently sweating at the picnic
No one wants

a reminder of their own unhappiness
Everything’s a little greasier close up
Yeah, I’ve made myself unrecognisable from my original form

Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got nothing to offer you except 
                                                        A creamy interior

free of texture

                                                A canvas for salt
                                       My face in the shape pleasing
to 67% of the focus group