Apple Fritters Anonymous

~~Dear Apple Fritter,

Why must you be

so delightfully,

sinfully perfect?

Your icing so crunchy,

so perfectly sweet.

But not too sweet.

Those soft

little chunks

of granny smiths

give you just the right

touch of tartness.

You know,

there are days

I don’t even think of you.

I don’t care

that you’re still one

of life’s little

affordabilities.

Oh, but then,

there’s days like this.

When even the sun

lacked the strength

to rise

to its full height.

When the clouds

Seem to follow me

Everywhere

I force myself to go.

On days like these,

you’re all I think about.

On a plate,

I toast you up just right.

With a big glass of milk,

or perhaps,

an even bigger cup of Joe…

I savor your sweetness,

your gooey perfection

made of dough so dense

and buttery cinnamon.

My tongue craves you

more than my lover’s

soft kisses.

One bite in,

and I feel it—

the release—

Of stress.

Of fear.

My mouth waters.

My mind relaxes.

I close my eyes,

and savor

the perfection of flavor.

And with the last bite,

I sigh

with contentment,

with relief.

At least,

until I open my eyes

and see the truth

right in front of me.

No problems solved.

No anxieties removed.

Only another

wasted calorie.

Another year

of bad health,

or maybe just

one year less

overall.

At the end,

of this binge,

I feel

bloated and weak,

nauseous and full

of loathesome detest

for myself

and this anxiety-ridden life

where I find comfort

in so little

as much as I do

in just a taste

of sugar.

~~Me.

(AFA - Apple Fritters Anonymous)