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Poetry & Art

Your Meal Served

She served you the meal you served her and you fold.
Someone should’ve told you that it would get old.
That revenge is a dish best served cold.

Now you’re angry – Your ego is bruised.
You only see the pain when you’ve been misused.
You really thought you had options from which to choose.

I bet you wish you didn’t form the habit.
You never thought this would be you but now you have it.
Your own nasty meal on a platter and it’s just the right fit.

Now that you know there’s no room at the dinning table you’ll know not to invite heartache anymore.

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by Crissy DXCII

A married, mother of a baby boy. Love writing poetry and drawing. I hope to excel in both areas.


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