Tonight, I’ll show you my poem  
and ask you not to look for more.  
I’ll make you promise  
you won’t search for my words.  

But deep down,  
I’ll hope you break that promise.  
I’ll hope you look,  
hope you see yourself in every line,  
hope you realize it’s you I like.  

And if you do like me back,  
I’ll say “no.”  
“No,” even if my body and heart  
are screaming “yes.”  

I’m a rotten fruit,  
and we both know  
what happens when you place  
a good fruit next to one that’s gone bad.  

It will rot,  
slowly, with the other,  
until nothing remains.  

And it would be selfish of me  
to let you decay  
just because I like you.