Tight Pants
As soon as I convince myself that food is not my friend
This one-sided relationship will all come to an end
Each day when I arise I pledge an archetypal goal
To overcome the food addition pulling on my soul
But as the day goes forward, problems start to come around
The vending machine calls me and my love jones comes on down
Food shouldn't be my buddy, nor my solace when I'm sad
Not what to do when I'm alone or feeling really bad
I can't find myself in popcorn, there's no counseling in chips
This love affair's not working out (I see it on my hips)
Though I know it's not where I should go when looking for the truth,
I share secrets with my pantry - it's my confessional booth
For many years I've searched and searched for pairs of loving eyes
Those I find - are on potatoes or my skinny lover - fries
I look for comfort in the coolness of a milkshake's sweet embrace
It seems to be what I need but – it's showing in my face
I love the crunch of fried fish once it's bubbled in hot grease
But these rolls of fat upon my back just do not bring me peace
Sometimes I think I'll overcome but alas and alack
The smell of rising dough just seems to stab me in the back
This symbiant feeds off me as I gorge upon its flesh
And my attempts to conquer it are marginal - at best
The truthful path to happiness is what I most desire
But yet the path I choose to walk is paved with tight attire
Buying bigger clothes would be a way to make amends but
Money is a joke that I discuss with all my friends
Vanity keeps me from moving on to larger sizes
Self-esteem flees from me with my morning scale surprises
Pain becomes a part of me when I put on my jeans
Because of how the waistband cuts so deep into my spleen
Food. Not song, or dance, or even following my dreams
Not writing silly poems or saying funny things
Not feeling good, not working hard, not fitting in my clothes
Filling my gut with sustenance but not filling the holes
This relationship waits for me at the end of every day
It's never late, it's always there, faithful in every way
You have to ask yourself sometimes, “what kind of friend is that?”
Who gives me what I think I want no matter how I act?
My ankles swell, my belly too, my butt hangs kinda' low
I can sit in for the fat sidekick in any TV show - but
As soon as I convince myself that food is not my friend
This one-sided relationship will all come to an end
Today when I arise I'll pledge an archetypal goal
To overcome this food addition pulling on my soul
Copyright © Mari Banks | Year Posted 2013
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