Take the Apples that Grow Here

Green is the first color
you found home in because
the grass you trod with bare
feet was never disagreeable.

It almost felt like it
wanted you, and you’d soon
forget what that’s like.

And it asked an apple tree to stay
with you too.

That tree became a new home,
it allowed and it gave,
and its fruit wasn’t disagreeable.

It almost felt like they filled
your very being--
but you'd soon learn that wasn’t
even close to the truth.

There were red ones, and yellow,
rosy, poisonous pink,
and they would not be yours forever.

Bitter as they are, they make
you strong; so, cringe if you need,
cry, plead; but
take the apples that grow here.

This poem is about: 
Me

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