Poetry

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(Anorexic)

Food, food, go away.
I cannot come out to play.
You cannot make me obey,
No matter what you do or say.

You cannot control
What goes on inside my soul.
For your crusty jelly rolls
Are full of stale opinion polls.

Robbers stole my bread,
Gave me dirt to eat instead,
And told me Jesus did not care,
That He had not a crumb to spare

From His spread divine,
Lavished with the finest wine,
Abundant life poured out for me,
To set this lonely sinner free.

They say I must pay
For the trust I did betray.
In my neck I feel the bite
And it has wrecked my appetite.

For their curse so mean,
I have chosen to be lean.
Due to all their little digs,
I choose to give my food to pigs.

I'll eat when I feel
No man my true bread will steal.
I desire a life that's real,
A truly satisfying meal.

Someone speak to me
Words to set my spirit free.
Give this poor soul liberty,
Bring healing to this casualty.

That's the food for me,
And I'm sure you will agree:
From my back remove your feet
And once again I'll choose to eat

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