Waffles Don’t Scream at You

bagels don’t bite you in the nose,
strawberries don’t stain the rug with tears,
red velvet doesn’t rip your still beating heart out
and feel its pulse against its palm,
broken veins in between its fingernails.

Life is easier
when you are eating.

The world seems so big when you are a toddler,
the only thing you need to make it feel
just a bit smaller
is a towering stack of buttered pancakes,
sopping with tingling syrup
or a bowl of steaming white rice
cloudy and clumpy,
calling for you to drown in it.

You don’t obsess over unkept nails or tangled hair
when you have lost your fingers in a bag of tortilla chips
and spend the entire afternoon fishing them out again.

You don’t notice the bruises on your knees
when you are elbows deep in a jar of peanut butter,
kneeling on the floor by the stove.
Ice cream doesn’t insult your character or your body,
Pomodoro doesn’t pull your eyelashes out,
croissants don’t carve chasms into your dreams
leaving echoes in your skull.

Instead, you’re welcomed with open arms
guilt melting away, seeping into the drain.
Food says “I love you,”
because no one else will.

Indulgence

The taste of sweet yet tart strawberries
Dances on my tongue.
Ripe and red, they arouse my taste buds,
Leaving behind tiny seed souvenirs,
As the jammy sensation of the berries
Slides down my throat.
Next, the airy foam of whipped cream swirls on my tongue,
Creamy, frothy, billowy.
Then, the rich, smokiness of chocolate sauce
Overwhelms my senses.
Drowning me in a cloying trap,
Like a warm river, deceptively comforting me
With its familiar, bold indulgence.

Guilt and unspeakable pain stab
As I feel it all lurching back up,
Launched, escaping the depth of my darkness,
Stinging my esophagus and throat with acid.
Everything
else
follows.

I am left stained.
Teeth and heart,
Mind and soul-
All broken with the guilt I have created for myself.
I feel the cold, bitter tile touching my knees,
Sticky fingers lodge in my throat as I continue to gag,
My weak body trembles, the quivering escalating into convulsions.
I come face to face with my worst fear,
And the creator of my hate.
It is staring back at me in the porcelain vessel.

As I bring myself up to my feet, stumbling,
I grab the handle,
Watch water come rushing down the sides,
Swallowing the mess of stomach acid
With one gulp,
Washing away the bitter poison,
That once tasted so sweet.

Hayley Ross-Settineri is a 17 year old high school student at Harvard Westlake High School. She lives in Los Angeles with her dads, twin brother, and dog, making many trips to the beach and tennis courts. In 2024, she was selected as a Silver Key winner for the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, then received 2 honorable mentions in 2025. This is her first time having her work published.