(diet) Coke n' Peanuts

My dad told me, it was a sort of tradition
Peanuts in your Coke for a whisper of nutty flavor
Perfect for palettes who prefer a combination
Of tricky and treat- salty and sweet
We smiled and the Coke bubbled
When we dropped the peanuts in.
 
We were in the same car we were always in.
With us, a lot of things are tradition.
Temporary happiness fizzed and bubbled
Over- a family of the seemingly most average flavor
Perfect normal perfect money perfect sweet
Teacher-teacher-golfer-singer combination.
 
But someone picked apart our combination
And cleverly affixed himself in
Like a puzzle piece you know doesn’t go there- sweet
Enough to convince us he fit our tradition
Put a tip of the tongue kind of flavor
That sang like cream and his sugar bubbled
 
And the world and the confusion and the unfair bubbled
Into a deadly mind-sickness. Use and abuse combination
His hands gripped my wrists leaving a purple and blue flavor
In shape of a pancake-he took me to IHOP to apologize. In
My mind I thought it was normal, couple’s tradition
Shards of glass in my windpipe, blood tastes bittersweet.
 
The mind has a dispute with reality. What is surrender, what is sweet?
I simmered and he steamed and he bubbled
Over into my nightmares. Checking my closet is my bedtime tradition.
Lock my barbedwireheart and hurl the combination
Down to hell. But that’s not good enough. Hell is a place where he just saunters in,
Small-talking the devil, mouth overflowing with white-hot flavor.
 
Bit into my thighs, my neck, my brain and recoiled at my soul’s flavor,
Said my demeanor was too opinionated- girls are obedient and sweet.
Men can conquer our bodies. When they knock, we have to let them in
But I pull the door tighter and plaster my middle finger to the glass, justice bubbled
Up inside rising rising rising. Can’t twist the dial right? Can’t crack my combination?
Well, sweetie. I no longer take part in your sexist tradition.
 
 
 
My demands aren’t sweet- full of fighting flavor,
Emerged from a combination of rape culture and victimblamingtradition.
My spirit bubbles and swoops in and above the sky- the color of effervescence.