guilt and shame
eating to blame
lack of control
lack of tame
the food comes in
the fat puffs out
if only cold turkey
didn’t sound so good right now

Back to the earth
everything organic
yet another course correction

ınk a new line that drips upon a page;
poetry plays a point that letters spell.
when feet are running meter's rhyme and rage
the poet writes of love that's worth the tell.
a statement made of stanzas rings a bell
in ears that crave the rhythm of a verse
rehears'd in dulcet tones that maybe yell
at times when feeling love is but a curse.
volta Velveeta cheese an early hearse
and bathroom book of verses by anon.
musical fruits smell better smelling worse:
ıf music be the food of loveplay on.
     in octaves, sevenths, sixths, fifths, fourths, and thirds,
     poesy footsy plays with gaming words.

They came.
I served their food raw.
One called the smoke “avant-garde.”
Another mistook the fire for wine.

I told my recipe to the onions,
And they cried for me.
My assistant bled her heart out into the batter.
We called it dedication.

They clapped at the concept
  But spat out the taste.
      “Where’s the soul?”
    They asked,
  As I retched mine onto their plate.

I plated everything. I garnished everything.
I sous-vided my own nerves.

The critics asked me:
  “Is this performance or punishment?”
And I said:
  “Yes.”

They begged for dessert.
I gave them a mirror.

No one was full.

One choked.
  One clapped.
    One asked if it was locally sourced.

And just before the flames kissed the napkins goodbye,
Just before the foam turned to ash,
  I leaned in
  And whispered:

“It was halibut, you donkey.”

My body craves it, but my mind doesn't.
Next thing you know, the bite goes down my throat.
"Why are you doing this?"
"You're a disappointment."
"You'll never reach your dreams."
"Why don't you just eat less?"
The devil on my shoulder says.

It's not easy. It's never enough. IM never enough.

"Didn't you just eat? You're eating again? "
"Why don't you eat? You've ate nothing but gum.."
"Hey, you look a little glum are you okay?"
"I miss her so much. I had just talked to her yesterday."

Sitting up
On the shelf
Between the cucumbers and zucchini
Delicate vegetables in hues of yellow
Longing to be returned to the garden.

Gazing down
At me,
Little squash
Freshly taken from a crate
In the back of the refrigerated truck
On a long journey from what was familiar.
Far traveled, the linoleum strikingly different
From the warm soil baked by the sun,
Your kin next to you, safe and sprinkled
With the earth.
Plucked from the branch,
Swept away from the flowery buds
Unassumingly awaiting your same fate.
Dragged through the air,
Your once carefully placed existence,
Groomed to perfection,
Basking in the life of the warm garden,
No longer holds you to it.

In the market,
The mist sweeps down,
Reminding you of home.
Reminiscent,
You long of the same thunderstorms that captivate me,
Feeling the earth and her tears from heaven on my skin.
Absorbing,
As if you were
A sponge
Taking in your surroundings,
Holding them dear and flourishing
In your environment,
Only to be rung out,
Waiting to take in more,
Never of the same matter.

Liquorice leaves a bad taste,
while m&ms never go to waste,
Turkey so dry on xmas day,
Succulent thigh of chicken moist,
Its always the fastest picked choice,
then the salty yummy sweet ham
and a decently prepared potato salad,
leaves belly fill without ever glum.

I never eat at break.
It started with recklesness;
it always starts like that.
Forgetting to pack up food in the mornings
where I could hardly get up.
The first days,
weeks,
months,
I was hungry.
Yet still every morning I forgot,
like an animal surviving in the present would.

Over time,
I forgot hunger too.