Malnourished

Malnourished

I should eat, but what?

Is this feeling hunger?

I search the cabinets for something

to nourish me, satisfy me, fill me

and help me grow.

All I find are snack cakes

and cans of whatever iced tea or soda

that came cheap.

They are empty calories

that give the impression of a meal

but lacking of real substance.

How are these better

than the mud cakes that fill the bellies

of children in impoverished countries?

I force myself to eat something,

but still I don’t feel satisfied.

Am I unworthy of wholesome nutrition

or is this the best that our family can afford?

A “real meal” is finally prepared,

but it’s inedible; it is viscous like mucous

and overdone,

as if by exaggerating the cook time

it proves it was made with extra love.

Instead, it’s just mushy

and devoid of anything holistic.

I’ll poke at it while being forced to eat it

until my throat gags

and I spew it out.

I still feel empty.

I know if I complain

you will just dismiss me as picky.

Too particular.

Impossible to please.

My insides ache.

What’s wrong with me?

Why is everyone else seemingly enjoying

this minimalistic,

overcompensating expression of love?

Why can’t I even stomach it?

The family scoop large portions,

even reaching in for seconds.

They are getting fat off of it,

filling the emptiness inside themselves

with this imitation happiness.

I’d rather stay empty.

I can’t wait to leave this table.

One day I’ll have a family of my own,

and I will fill my children

with nourishing foods

that satisfy their stomachs and hearts.

They will never feel the pain and rejection

that exists in my hunger.

The cupboard will overflow

with wonderful, wholesome stuffs

that reflect my love for them,

my hopes for their future growth

and strong and healthy constitution.

But how do I provide for them

that which I was never taught,

when even now you reach for me

and I shutter

because I am malnourished.

—Jesse Lee 11/11/2025