Perfectly Sweet

 

They tell me

that to be a sugar cookie,

I must be a star,

a perfect shape

fresh from the cookie cutter,

iced and sugared,

sparkling in sweet colors,

looking and tasting

so pretty.

 

The problem is,

I was shaped by the cookie cutter

with perfect angles

and sharp edges,

but I was baked,

and the heat rose some parts,

sinking others,

stretching my edges

and scorching my sides.

 

I came out

looking less like a star

and more like a mangled flower,

globular, swollen, and charred.

Not fit to be iced and sugared,

not prettily sweet,

not the kind of sugar cookie

you’d like to see

on a plate.

 

But I realize

that to be a perfect shape

means rawness,

and that to be baked

means I understand,

that I would rather

be a swollen flower

than a perfect, sparkling,

iced and sugared star.

 

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