I’d  like to take take my demons

and bake them into a cake

I’d ice them in creamy frosting

I’d serve them on a plate

 

People who made me sad would fork them

and crunch them between their teeth

Anyone who was made me cross would say

“This is so yummy, what’s your recipe?”

 

I’d drop my plate on the floor

I’d keep my fork in my hand

I’d point it at their eye and say

” Do you have to ask?”