You are a slave to that refrigerator
Rummaging its contents for your self-worth
consolation beckoning from its abundant shelves
You're in a relationship with that refrigerator
insecurely quelling yourself with the emptiness of the jarred-full shelves
You break up, you make up
starve-binge, starve-binge
yet absent in every bite and every purge is your self-love and self-worth
spirits do not hush at the flavor of delicacies
and with every neglected rumble, it shrinks more
your soul is broader than endless contents
and starved for complete contentment
not for empty contents
You mean more than the solid handles of that refrigerator
learn your worth.