The Murder of Crows

The Murder of Crows
by Mia Stewart
 
Black eyes follow, as she grows
Circling like, carnivorous crows
 
Pecking apart, with side-eyed looks
Ripping flaws, with sharp-tongued hooks
  
 Burrowing beneath, oversized plain clothes
Trying to evade, her feathered foes.
 
Hiding too afraid, to dine or drink
Praying crows will turn tired and rethink
  
But crows are hungry, and patience is waning  
And Scarecrows around Have forgotten their training.
 
Crows are locked on, prepared to strike
Insults ready, no matter how trite
 
Crows criticize, to mask insecurity  
Whispering curves, are an impurity
 
And those taunts are an ablution.
Molting becomes the only solution  
 
Surrendering, crows gorge themselves
 Purging fat and muscle cells  
 
Crows pause and admire their work
Praising with a twisted smirk
 
Does she meet their design?  
A carbon copy, how divine.