I pour words into a bowl and stir them,
Hoping they’ll soften enough to serve,
Mellow enough to digest.
Their bitterness is hard to swallow.
I choke myself and wipe away the tears.
I can’t share them with you. With anyone.
These thoughts that grow inside me,
Must have rooted in a poisoned heart.
What toxins seeped into the soil?
Will this dish kill us both?
I pour my words into a bowl
Filled with empathy and excuses,
Antidotes to neutralize the venom.
A home-cooked meal. Dinner is served.