Blueberries And Pistachios.

Weight piled on like quiet snow,
no one asks, no one knows.
The mirror winks, then frowns again
my secret war beneath my skin.

I speak in colors—blue and green
berries sharp and nuts between.
Last thing before my day’s goodbye,
a crunchy hope, a whispered try.

I chew on doubts like pistachio shells,
the clack and snap of hidden spells.
Calories dance in shadowed rooms,
where hunger hums and silence looms.

I brag to no one, but here’s the truth:
I’m caught between my youth and proof
that love and wanting can coexist,
in every pound I can’t resist.

So here’s to rituals small and sweet,
to nights when discipline and cravings meet.
Blueberries and pistachios—my sly confession,
a taste of grace in quiet progression.