We're all like fallen apples
that are bruised to the touch
some tumbled from great heights
and smashed on the ground
others took longer to ripe
and others are more round
some are sweet
and some are sour
some are blooming this very hour
I know apples that have holes
bites were taken
and they're broken to the core
some apples are rotten
and some apples are not
but just like us
some apples are in between
and I'd eat them anyway
Apples can come in all shapes and sizes,
Two apples they are not the same,
See one and it's in your hand before it realizes,
Choosing the right one is part of the game,
They can look so sweet from where you sit,
But once you bite into that rotten part,
It changes your whole perception of it,
And can send and arrow through your heart,
To me I'm an apple not wholly bad,
To you the shiniest and most delectable you'd seen,
Sadly more bitter than you what thought you had,
But with time to ripen fit for my queen.
For apples to be we are both bruised,
We have been hurt and reduced,
Some visible, and some I denied the clues,
Yet together us perfectly flawed apples have fused,
Like a pair that only comes in a dual pack,
Still we cannot unfeel what we have felt,
Nor take back the damage i have dealt.
I vow to bring us back on track.
Let me be your sun,
Your source of growth,
Your only one,
So hear my oath.
I will be your love, your inspiration,
Like the apple of your first impression,
We will roll down hills and across nations,
For this is the long run and not a single session.
I see now that we could endure any weather
From stormy oceans to scorching heat
And one day i hope our seeds grow a tree together
That no other apple could possibly beat.
I remember bumping into you
At the grocery store,
Looking at produce.
And I was looking at pears
And you were looking at apples.
You called "Hey!"
And I suddenly wished
I had worn make-up that day.
But I couldn't ignore you,
So I said "Hi"
While butterflies in my stomach
Shone through my eyes.
We made small talk,
Talked about the weather,
Then the conversation turned to apples,
And you asked my opinion.
I've never been good at short answers-
This time was no exception.
"I think apples can be a metaphor
Some people are sweet
But if they go too long without love,
They turn rotten.
Others are sour
But that's what makes them
Some are loved as soon as they come in,
And others get passed around
And never picked,
Dropped and bruised,
And they are thrown away
Before they can go bad."
You nodded and listened,
Obviously paying thought.
"Do you have any others ideas on the merits
I started to blush,
I wanted to bite my tongue,
But for some reason,
"Only that I've heard-
I don't know if it's even true-
That in Ancient Greece
Throwing an apple at a woman
Was considered a marriage proposal."
You raised your eyebrows,
And picked up an apple,
Looking at it in your hand,
So long have I had
a craving for apples
But wherever I look
all the apples have dents
that flaw their once-perfect skin
They're all the same
But one day
one apple in particular
caught my eye
It had perfect skin
It was the prettiest,
most shiniest apple you've ever seen
"Eat me", it said
And as hunger got the best of me
and I took a bite
I realized that it was a rotten apple
On the inside