what poem ever really is, until someone prints it in stone...


he leads with his right
in all he does
while I, in this diabetes thing,
lead with my stomach

she doesn’t know anymore
where to find food
she goes looking but can’t remember
I had already answered her “Feed me, feed me!” call

she has a sweet tooth, too,
starts dancing with delight
upon her imaginings

her gnawing begins
long before the aroma of flavors
are savored

rousing that which I’d suppressed
with all my might
in the fight for balance,
control


(maybe this should be called "Struggles" or a Pie Slice of Life)