The more I read, the more I learn the lies
my cohort fed on, childhood to youth,
and through advancing age. It’s with surprise
I start to love nutrition’s fatty truth
and gape at facts about our insulin
long-known and hard-suppressed by published folk.
Established science falters, wearing thin,
while party lines appear as myth or joke.

The tenets fall like bowling pins when struck
by rolling evidence and weighty fact.
I sputter and I mutter what the fuck,
reviewing lab reports for their exact
results — unbiased science — and begin
applying fatty acids to my skin.