Feed Me Your Affection
Feed me your affection in the form of square salty crackers with a cheesy after taste and an orange hue.
Feed it to me in the form of caramel filled balls dipped in chocolate or a bag of movie popcorn.
In the queso and tortilla chips on the table or at the Sears candy counter.
Feed it to me as Christmas mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, holiday fudge shaped like Texas or gooey pecan bread that I can’t get enough of.
Don’t feed it in the form of stale cigarette smoke, the alcohol on your breath, or hours of TV.
Not in the form of careless words or a fly swatter to my back. Don’t feed me in the form of shame or rage or fear.
Don’t feed me sleepless nights and stomach aches or anxiety attacks.
Please don’t feed me your depression or your illness.
Don’t feed me your affection in the form of false promises and manipulation, suffocating hugs and reckless driving. Your screaming and yelling do not sustain me.
I watch you feed yourself and it makes me want to starve.