She told me to be still. I crouched there in the must of the barn, wishing I hadn’t turned my heel. Wishing I had waited. Wishing a lot of things, actually.
Smoke was in the air. I tried to breathe deep. Maybe if there was a campfire in my lungs, it would all be over.
Cackling flame brought back memories of another life. Another time. Another person, really. If I could go back to how I was back then, maybe the scales on my eyes would help me burst through, rise up like some great phoenix, and burn the hell out of everything so we could get away.
There are always leftovers after a big meal, and my mom and grandma won’t rest until they’ve fought to the death about who gets to take them home. NO YOU. WE WON’T EAT THEM. BUT THEY’RE SO EASY TO WARM UP. PLEASE TAKE THEM. it’s a madhouse. every holiday. I always try to get as many leftovers as i can out of my grandma. She’s always trying to feed me, that one. I have serious sway with that woman. My mom tries to keep us healthy, but we all know that HEALTHY isn’t a word to be described with grandmas. So i vie for the leftover pie and cakes and chip dip. And most of the time, it works. But then my brothers just eat it all anyway. Figures.
A method of therapy had been perscribed, but first the old pills had to go.
No leftovers.
A clean slate.
Like a clean plate, the regimine would be proven by efficacy of outcome.
Yes, they said it would take time.
Someone had to remain hopeful this one would take.
Instead of bending minds, it would be straightforward like tick tick tock.
Someone chuckles in the foreground and grasps the notion of a prison.
Cbt
The ham was almost better the second time around. And she told him so. He smiled at the dishes in the sink as she ran her fingers through his hair, down his neck to his back. “Thank you for Christmas dinner.” “I didn’t have much of a choice. If you had made it, we would have been ordering pizza and putting out oven fires.” She laughed, more at herself than at his comment. “Which is why I married someone who knew how to cook. His soapy hands found her waist and pulled her in. “Oh, is THAT why?”
an inventory of things you left me:
*the goldfish we won together at six flags
*one (1) bruised wrist
*one (1) bloody lip
*five (5) fractured bones
*a serious case of loneliness (none of your friends want to date your leftovers)
Naomi Tomlin
Sally packed the Christmas leftovers while her brother and sister-in-law were out on their walk, looking at the different varieties of lights and decorations on their neighbors’ houses. Sally didn’t much like walking in the cold. She was perfectly happy with tidying up, especially when her cat Dirk kept her company, curled up on the counter beside her while chewing on a piece of ribbon ripped off a present.
“I’m fine with this,” she cooed to the feline, stroking his head and adoring his loud purring.
Belinda Roddie
you were my left overs
i never came back to get you from the fridge though
my mama always told me to eat the left overs
i never got a chance to open the fridge though
ty
Ehhhh food that is probably so nasty after you ate it before that night out with your friends, family, or partner. I honestly don’t like leftover food. Leftover is not just food . . . it could be anything.
i eat leftover all time. whether its panda express or readmits. I love left overs. left over pizza is my favorite. um um um. yeah food is cool. food is my passion whether it is left overs or not. leftover rail is good. cold pizza is my fav
give me some, I don’t mind. I’m Italian, aight? I had Chicken parm leftovers for lunch like two days ago. I used to be too good for leftovers, but then I thought maybe it was really leftovers that were too good for me??????DSf,l;dmgdklz/ndhhdfzgv
The best thing about a festival, of any sort, are the leftovers. The beer isn’t as fresh, the bread is dry, but the sauces and vegetables and meats taste better than ever, there’s no formality on when you can start and finish eating, and relaxing is good.
in the wilderness
meat fresh, fine —
blood, banquet wine:
— here be a feast
for starving hyenas.
anonym
Leftovers.
A girl sits down after dinner and a hard day. Her family are sat around her, speaking over her. She knows what she wants but her parents don’t think she can do it. But she can. She can do it. She defiantly stands up at the table and smacks down her fist. Shut Up. She exclaims.
She told me to be still. I crouched there in the must of the barn, wishing I hadn’t turned my heel. Wishing I had waited. Wishing a lot of things, actually.
Smoke was in the air. I tried to breathe deep. Maybe if there was a campfire in my lungs, it would all be over.
Cackling flame brought back memories of another life. Another time. Another person, really. If I could go back to how I was back then, maybe the scales on my eyes would help me burst through, rise up like some great phoenix, and burn the hell out of everything so we could get away.
There are always leftovers after a big meal, and my mom and grandma won’t rest until they’ve fought to the death about who gets to take them home. NO YOU. WE WON’T EAT THEM. BUT THEY’RE SO EASY TO WARM UP. PLEASE TAKE THEM. it’s a madhouse. every holiday. I always try to get as many leftovers as i can out of my grandma. She’s always trying to feed me, that one. I have serious sway with that woman. My mom tries to keep us healthy, but we all know that HEALTHY isn’t a word to be described with grandmas. So i vie for the leftover pie and cakes and chip dip. And most of the time, it works. But then my brothers just eat it all anyway. Figures.
A method of therapy had been perscribed, but first the old pills had to go.
No leftovers.
A clean slate.
Like a clean plate, the regimine would be proven by efficacy of outcome.
Yes, they said it would take time.
Someone had to remain hopeful this one would take.
Instead of bending minds, it would be straightforward like tick tick tock.
Someone chuckles in the foreground and grasps the notion of a prison.
The ham was almost better the second time around. And she told him so. He smiled at the dishes in the sink as she ran her fingers through his hair, down his neck to his back. “Thank you for Christmas dinner.” “I didn’t have much of a choice. If you had made it, we would have been ordering pizza and putting out oven fires.” She laughed, more at herself than at his comment. “Which is why I married someone who knew how to cook. His soapy hands found her waist and pulled her in. “Oh, is THAT why?”
She never got it
hot and fresh –
always
day-old and
mesh of gummed
gray flavors.
She was done
with all that.
It was a new year!
So, she lifted her chin,
threw away the
microwave and
started cooking
for herself.
Congealing on the plate, small mounds of gravy and potato, a shard or two of meat, some peas. It asks for resolution, some kind of conclusion…
an inventory of things you left me:
*the goldfish we won together at six flags
*one (1) bruised wrist
*one (1) bloody lip
*five (5) fractured bones
*a serious case of loneliness (none of your friends want to date your leftovers)
Sally packed the Christmas leftovers while her brother and sister-in-law were out on their walk, looking at the different varieties of lights and decorations on their neighbors’ houses. Sally didn’t much like walking in the cold. She was perfectly happy with tidying up, especially when her cat Dirk kept her company, curled up on the counter beside her while chewing on a piece of ribbon ripped off a present.
“I’m fine with this,” she cooed to the feline, stroking his head and adoring his loud purring.
you were my left overs
i never came back to get you from the fridge though
my mama always told me to eat the left overs
i never got a chance to open the fridge though
Ehhhh food that is probably so nasty after you ate it before that night out with your friends, family, or partner. I honestly don’t like leftover food. Leftover is not just food . . . it could be anything.
i eat leftover all time. whether its panda express or readmits. I love left overs. left over pizza is my favorite. um um um. yeah food is cool. food is my passion whether it is left overs or not. leftover rail is good. cold pizza is my fav
Mikey opened the fridge a crack, peeked inside, slammed it shut, and put his back to the door.
“I told you guys! It’s alive!”
“Mikey,” Leo groaned, “that’s impossible.”
“Not with his cooking,” Raph pointed out.
give me some, I don’t mind. I’m Italian, aight? I had Chicken parm leftovers for lunch like two days ago. I used to be too good for leftovers, but then I thought maybe it was really leftovers that were too good for me??????DSf,l;dmgdklz/ndhhdfzgv
The best thing about a festival, of any sort, are the leftovers. The beer isn’t as fresh, the bread is dry, but the sauces and vegetables and meats taste better than ever, there’s no formality on when you can start and finish eating, and relaxing is good.
leftovers of the wealthy
enough
for few
excess is not waste
when given away.
in the wilderness
meat fresh, fine —
blood, banquet wine:
— here be a feast
for starving hyenas.
Leftovers.
A girl sits down after dinner and a hard day. Her family are sat around her, speaking over her. She knows what she wants but her parents don’t think she can do it. But she can. She can do it. She defiantly stands up at the table and smacks down her fist. Shut Up. She exclaims.