i am a sensitive piece of fruit
a pear that is easily bruised.
my fruit flesh a corporeal canvas
brushed over with violent slashes of color,
muted hues of blue and green,
a dotted landscape of pain.
beneath the vivid swaths of color
a place for me to hide the brown mushy
bruises like the one from one of those times
when my ex-husband hit me and
down underneath where no one
can see is a long gash left behind by
the man who didn’t want kids
even though my mom already had them.
he blew up one day and knocked me to the floor.
i fell down into a bowl of fruit salad,
sitting in the cobwebbed corner – alone.
lost where no one could see me
because no one bothered to look.
spiders, roaches, and other nighttime crawlers
walked all over me, sucked me down
to the core, left nothing behind for me.
and one night a stranger saw me
lying there, he quickly took out an old rusted
fruit peeler and started peeling back my layers,
seeking to find the best of me. He
wanted nothing but to drain me of my
passion fruit. one after another
people stopped by for a peak,
like tourists, gawking, to get a glimpse
of this strange fruit.
Peace & Love,