I cannot eat this.
Eat.
If I would, I´d feel like puking.
Eat.
I don´t like the texture, or the taste.
Eat.
I am not even feeling hungry. Not that I ever do.
Eat.
I don´t like the color and form.
Eat.
It is mushy and weird.
Eat.
The thought alone makes me sick.
Eat.
I do not want to eat this.
Eat.
I will feel sick.
Eat.
I cannot eat this.
Eat.
Dec 18, 2024
Dec 18, 2024 at 8:56 PM UTC
I cannot eat this.
Eat.
If I would, I´d feel like puking.
Eat.
I don´t like the texture, or the taste.
Eat.
I am not even feeling hungry. Not that I ever do.
Eat.
I don´t like the color and form.
Eat.
It is mushy and weird.
Eat.
The thought alone makes me sick.
Eat.
I do not want to eat this.
Eat.
I will feel sick.
Eat.
I cannot eat this.
Eat.
Felt like writing about my relationship with food I guess.
Request permission to use this poem