I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm
Reaping the trees
I snagged the deepening black scrapes
it said to me in its way
that I was all remaining hope
I'll hold you in my basket
sweetie
in the kitchen you'll humiliate the others
with your colors
soft to the touch, you squish inward
hardly able to stand up for yourself
splotchy red with shame
warped straight face staring
can you breathe
through those holes?
I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm
a struggling artist in the fields
you were different with rot
distorted, grieving skin
keeping only the brown of the stem
the way it's usually seen
I only took a bite
to relish the unfamiliar
I'll realize later
I want better