The Plate You Fill

You eat for pleasure until the pleasure costs you.
You eat for health until you dread the plate.
One steals your years; the other steals your living.
A plate worth sitting down to holds them both.

Your grandmother never called food medicine.
She called it dinner — slid it across the table.
What healed you wore the smell of her kitchen.
You ate it all and asked if there was more.

The joy-eater lives half. The health-eater lives half.
Hold both on one plate, and your life grows lives — not rules.