Aunt Laura, I know how good your pie is,
and yes, I’ve always eagerly eaten it
and come back for more.
But it’s not on my food plan, and no,
I won’t even taste, and actually you’re wrong —
a little bite  could kill me.

Grandma, I’m not skin an bones.
You told me five weeks ago, “You’re getting fat,
you need to watch that weight!”
While I’m flattered, Doc Brown disagrees,
wants me to lose fifty pounds.

And you, my dear husband, you’re right —
I disagree with you more often these days.
I lived in a food fog all these years,
and clear thinking unnerves me
as the emotions I tamped down with food
spew forth. I’m working through them,
and while I will still speak the truth
I hope you’ll love me until I can speak truth with love.

I’m scared you see the changes in me
while at the same time elated you ratify my truth.
I’ve found a new home, a family of choice,
people who know me as I’ve never known myself.
But you, family of my heart,
my flesh and bone, I cherish your love,
your concern, your involvement,
I ask you, though, please —
Don’t love me to death.