Listen to the poem here.

You spoon-fed me love and expectations.

Desperate to meet them,

I molded my flesh and broke my bones,

Sprinkled powder sugar like glitter over my words,

They taste sweeter going down your throat.

My body was dough and

I kneaded myself to perfection.

Bake at 350 for 35 minutes.

I am the shape of the woman

That brings you the most joy.

Once, or twice, I changed the recipe,

A tablespoon more of the savory flavor

Of independence

Beaten, until it formed the peaks and curves

Of my body.

Lips puckered, you murmured,

You did not like the taste

I left on your tongue.

Change is not a flavor in your vocabulary

But you ought to make it one.

When writing this poem, a lot of the lines I thought of were separate and I'm not sure all of them belong in one poem, maybe they don't keep the topic as focused. In my feedback, I would like to hear how you felt about the flow of the poem, if there were any lines you felt didn't fit or made you stumble. I would also like to know if you thought they all fit together, or if some stray from the meaning you are interpreting. Anything else you have to offer me is welcome! Thank you in advance!