Pomegranate

By, Tava Meyer

You score my skin, and I let you.

You try and pry deeper, but I resist.

You suddenly rip me apart, and I whimper in protest.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

You lay me down, and I weep for myself.

You scrape at my insides, and I am mostly shocked.

You pluck and pull at my seeds, and my blood runs freely.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

You take your time deseeding me, your fingers stained red.

You hollow me out slowly, then leave me here for dead.

You walk away delighted, you have gotten your fill. 

I am thrown away, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.