he didn’t peel my orange,
I let tears shed down my face,
I’m not supposed to be sad,
after all, it’s just an orange.

a sweet and sour fruit,
the color of a prison jumpsuit,
I think I need a parachute,
to rescue me into absolute.

I don’t notice anything else,
just the fact that he refused,
but I stop to think and realise,
that maybe I need to be defused.

all these problems climbing up,
rushing in from the *****,
when a sweet turns to sour,
and something snaps inside.

Why am I filled with smoke,
Why do I feel this way,
Why am I so dependent,
It’s just an orange anyway.

so I start slowly,
taking the skin off,
piece by piece it falls,
and it reveals something sweet.

suddenly I understand.
To peel someones orange,
means I have to peel mine first.

A burning flame with flare,
and most of the time too bright
for me to sit and stare,
even if I use all my might.

They say I glow,
but I can't help notice the dull
so instead I look low,
always empty, never full.

But every so I yearn to see,
someone who loves me for me.

Even when it's dark and hard to find,
if anyone would be ever so kind
to look up when I look low,
when I'm half empty, and half full.

Everyone loves the brightest stars,
and stares when I'm near one, fun.
but everytime I go far,
it's like I'm a forgotten son, sun.