What a pest

a poem about never going back to what hurt me

The cherries were picked one by one.

The fattest of them all is what you wanted.

Not the one with the whole, pierced through by a flying by bird.

You wanted the fattest one. Even when you knew it had pesticide.

Even when you knew it could kill you.

You wanted the one who dared be beautiful to the eye, but left you out of the blue.

So now you have become posioned fruit too and I’d rather be shared with the bird that passes by.