Not My Food

Food, food, glorious food
everywhere I look
but I tell myself each time I pass,
“That’s nor my food.”
Like seeing a scarf I’d like to have,
I do not touch, for it’s not mine.
The rule is mine, not the host
but I can’t eat that, it’s mot the plan.
Truth be told, it’s an allergy.
If I sneak a bite I’ll break out in fat.
Maybe not as quickly as a rash
but inevitable, I know.
I just know that’s not my food
and I’ll not eat it because
I have too much respect for me!