Overripe.

i live the life of market-found fruit

pretty and polished and ready for purchase

skin soft and blushing

not to be peeled 

but for teeth to sink right into

stain the lips, drip down the chin

“pick me! bake with me! eat me!”

you stroll past with your bag

shopping for the sweet and delicious

i wonder if you hear me beg for you

the closer you get, the more i feel it

soft…er? blushing…er?

dying for you to sink your teeth into me

i want to stain your lips

drip down your chin

your hands are so wide around me

so firm, intentional

suddenly i’m self conscious

am i too soft? too blushing?

you decide i’m the one

and i feel like i’ve won

i’ve been picked! 

i will be baked with!

i will be eaten!

you take me home and i start to imagine

all the things you’ll do to me

will you like the way i taste

is it something you’ll savor

are my juices sweet enough

if i rest against your tongue

will i melt in your mouth?

take me out

sit me on the counter

take a picture and show your friends

just how pretty i am

they ask where you found me

you say you’d never tell

but the days go by

and i have yet to be eaten

picked but not chosen

left to wonder if it’s me

then you touch me again

with those wide hands

but your face is not so gentle

it screws with disgust

the wrong intentional

i am too soft, you’ve decided

less blushing, less fresh

i can’t be eaten now

nor baked with i’m sure

you discard me with ease

silly of me for expecting more

ripe until i’m overripe

now you’re back at the market

in search of new fruit