Mixed: A Poem By Miracle Garren

I think about being mixed

in the same way one would drink. 

How a lover would water me down enough 

until they are comfortable swallowing my existence

  Unless they decide to let me burn their throat

 for their own sick satisfaction.

Of the glory that they taste from the two parts of me 

rearranged endlessly

 as a flavoring to match what they want me to be 

so I come off easy.