I am twenty years old today
and I want a chocolate cake,
with the boldness to pick a fry off my boyfriend’s plate,
and the audacity to tell my hairdresser I hate my haircut
instead of crying in the car.
But more than anything, I want to stop
fearing the depth of my desire.
I’m so tired of believing
it’s impolite to be hungry.
I’m no hedonist,
just a girl with an empty stomach
and a mouth choked in prayer,
breathing and pleading,
“I shall not want.”