What I cannot have

junk food

I sit at thoughts’ forest, being purred upon,

wishing my only concerns were as simple.

Cat doesn’t care that I fear for our future

or that bills are due. He cares that my lap is warm.


My stomach, a fire of doubt, begs for poison.

I stop to consider the reasons I’m awake.

Months of pushing food into an unforgiving

body no longer able to understand the onslaught.


My mind, an echo of anxieties, begs for reason,

wishes for wholeness, cries out for acceptance,

dreams of contentment, wants what it cannot have;

a writer’s mind, a poet’s soul…and a normal life.