I walk along the bustling aisles of fruit in the market square,
looking past myself
Sun is shining bright on my skin,
feeling hot within
Sweet savory papaya,
ripe and inviting
Reminds me of an empty open wound,
a constant ache I cannot fill
I am Papaya, my flesh is laid bare
my ripples and walls floss his teeth, sinking into me
Ready to serve fresh on a dinner plate,
He scoops my innards after throwing out the seeds, feasting away
Plucking my leaves, harvesting me from my natural habitat
I am not a delicacy for the male appetite, not meant to be used as sustenance and eaten for nourishment
I am Papaya,
Sweet savory Papaya





