Fed

I am finally a woman willing to feed herself.

Crab. Prosciutto. Men that take good care of me—only the finest meats.

Art classes because I want to on a Saturday morning.

I guiltlessly binge Netflix series that are vapid, uninspiring, and shamelessly entertaining.

I swallow my children hole like hot lemons instead of making dinner on time for them.

That’s what beef jerky is for: it buys you extra time in the last rays of thick, buttery sunshine to play together.

I’m finally willing to feed myself,

So I let myself be fed.