I am always in a dilemma when it is eating time.

And in my book it is always time to eat.

Sometimes, I have to make choices

whether to eat or do something else.

Eating always wins.

Oh, how I eat my words every time I tell myself

that I am not gonna let food ruin my life.

I wish I really could swallow my jargon, though.

Accept them whole making my vocabulary food for my soul.

I need them to sink deep into the pits of my stomach

like meat and stay there for days until I fully digest

the meaning of what I said.

Maybe even travel from my stomach to my head,

and dive into the crevices of my brain.

I wish I could drink the memories of my pain,

taste the distaste so much that I would never drink it again.

Kinda like when I drank beer.  Ughh.  Beer is nasty.

It only took me one time to drink it and I never drank it again. 

The memory remains.  So, if I could just drink

the memories of my mistakes, I’ll never forget the taste.

Maybe I won't repeat stupid things anymore. 

I wish I could eat my terms.

Then maybe I will be living on my conditions.

If I could just dine on my rhymes,

devour them like I feast on Burger King every day.

I might be able to live off the words that I say.

I just want to eat my thoughts.

Not the ones that are full of negativity.

That is a whole other poem…

No, I wish I could write a full plate of lyrics

that were loaded with healthy words of encouragement

instead of self doubt, anger and depression.

Then I would sit down at the computer table

and consume language that would

Heal my heart like Organic Broccoli. 

What’s stopping me?

I once taught this kid poetry

and everyday in class I had to stop him from eating his paper

Weird kid, I thought.  But, maybe he was onto something.

Cause now, I’m sitting here trying to figure out

how to have a meal with my expressions on that sheet of paper.

Something needs to change. 

And I have said this over and over again.

Oh, how I wish that I could really eat my words.