By Emily Corbett<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pink, soft, sweet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Think.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What does that make you<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Think of?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Do you think of that sweet<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Taste? <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Do you think of the<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Love<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that you feel with fragile hands<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Interlaced?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Does it remind you of sweet, fresh, ripe<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Peaches?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Does I remind you of beautiful, quiet, sandy<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beaches?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
NO<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But I\u2019m not just a full, ripe<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tree<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that you get to pluck from for<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Free<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Something you want to taste.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Your unclean hands have <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Disgraced <\/p>\n\n\n\n
my soft exterior.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You try to tell me <\/p>\n\n\n\n
the bruises <\/p>\n\n\n\n
you left on me now make me <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inferior. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
My garden is overgrown<\/p>\n\n\n\n
but it is no longer yours. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It is nothing<\/p>\n\n\n\n
but my Own. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I know<\/p>\n\n\n\n
my peach tree will grow miles above you, <\/p>\n\n\n\n
because <\/p>\n\n\n\n
while you always undermined my strength, <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I always knew.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"