Diet (an acrostic poem)

Image: health.harvard.edu/media/content/images/DIET-made-of-sliced-vegetables-87883148(1).jpg

Don’t tell me what to eat.

I listen to what my body needs.

Everything in there is a well-oiled machine.

That’s the reason I consume all the French fries I can.

Hopeless (an acrostic poem)

Hatred spiked as she looked at the single piece of paper

Ordinarily inanimate objects did not suffer her wrath

Perhaps if it didn’t have those words and symbols on it

Eventually those very words scrambled her brain

Leaving her feeling lost amongst a future sea of red ink

Eyes fluttered skyward, but no divine help was forthcoming

Shifting in her seat gave didn’t give her any new insight

Suffering silently she wondered how bad it would be to ask if they wanted fries with that