Love is a Good Meal

When it comes to love,

words of criticism I have not always digested well.

My mother, who has loved me, once said:

“You will not always like everything on your plate, even if you need it. “

I begrudgingly gulped the brussel sprouts for the sake of improvement.

For me, kind words have been the fruit of what love is.

Fortifying me with a sweet orange tanginess.

Words of positive affirmation, like a banana’s sweet comfort,

as airy sarcasm teases me with pomegranate tartness.

Those who I have loved have always filled me with laughter.

A rice-like foundation to put everything else on.

If I had nothing else,

at least I had laughter.

Other times,

love is a meat one must have the teeth to work through.

Love and meat are best when tender.

Sometimes love comes in the form of the well-meaning nag,

a “Text me when you make it home safely.”

When I leave a dear friend's home.

That reminder like a leafy green,

good for the heart.

This is not to say I’ve never overindulged.

Several times I have loved what wasn't good for me.

There have been sweet, and beautiful, delicacies that convinced me of my own satisfaction.

Even as they rotted my insides with temptation and guilt.

For me,

Love was never butterflies dancing in my core.

Those who have really loved me have sedated the winged anxieties.

Now they rest at the bottom with fulfilling meals,

nourishing me from the inside out.