I might be a pineapple

Fixed with a crown

Solid inner core

Sweet fruit it surrounds

I Dole out some goodness

Sunny-yellow, golden, bright

Some call them "poems"

Some, "shining my light"

Flowers’ thorns; my surface

Remnants to protect

Flesh, fragile, inside

Till picked once perfect

I may not be a grandma,

But my mind is old.

I have green skin,

Green with envy and

the poison of other’s words

My skin scares people away

Because I taste sour

Everyone judges me

by the color of my skin

No one seems to care

About the core.

The core just goes into

the trash, where it rots

And molds with age

That’s where I am

Discarded by society

Waiting for the worms

To develop a taste for me.

Avocado. Full of fat, no perfect fit as fruit or veggie. A little bland, maybe. But don’t try to label me. Just know I’m good for you, though I probably won’t be what you need when you need me. I’m flawed that way. Too hard for too long, then bam! Too soft. But you can’t throw me away. I’m not some cheap banana. I’m an avocado, and I’m good for you. By the way, I can be a dessert. Sweet and savory. Yeah, that’s right. Where else can you get that? Shh! Don’t answer that! Just remember I’m an avocado. And I’m good for you.

I am a red-fleshed apple.

It looks ordinary on the outside. I mean, you’ve seen apples before, right? Who hasn’t? Apples are one of the most common fruits known to man. So common, in fact, that although the Bible only references the word fruit in the Garden of Eden story, every artist rendering of that fruit – is an apple. So, basically you say fruit – people think apple.

But this apple – this red-flesh apple is a surprising little fruit. People might pass it by thinking ‘you’ve tasted one you’ve tasted them all’. Their loss. Because those who venture beneath the skin are handsomely rewarded, stunned by the deep, rich texture and the uniquely desirable flavor inside.

I am a red-fleshed apple.

I am the

Old

Fuzzy

Orange that you left on your windowsill

Three weeks ago

Planning to eat me for lunch

But then you got dinner with a friend at that new cafe

And it

Rained

Through the screen of your cracked window

The one with the

Chipped blue

Cup beside it

Now

I am

A warm green tinted with red

Like the tile on your kitchen floor

But

You’re thinking about changing them to blue

And there’s that splotch of brown

The spill from

Tuesday’s

Yellow coffee cup

The one you forgot to wash and left above the microwave

The one you use

To catch rain

That

Sometimes

Falls

From that pipe in your sink

But you don’t quite have the energy to fix it

You

Just

Don’t

Quite have the energy to throw me out

Round. Red. Misunderstood. People insist that I am something that I'm not, for I am unlike almost everything else in my section of the produce department, except, the avocado who, like me is a savory fruit. Me, a tomato: God's ultimate oxymoron.

# WillowFae

I hate olives, unless you wring the life out of them.

They don't seem like fruit - they're not sweet like fruit are supposed to be - and they've got pits. Ugh. Nobody likes hard, bitter centers they can't crack.

But then again, when you squeeze their essence out of them, it's pretty amazing.

Or if you just dunk them in alcohol they're not so bad.

Guess that's why I relate - I find myself at my best either under pressure or under the influence.