Disappointing Fruit, or A Tempest of My Own Making

I wake to another dream of ripening
Becoming perfectly palatable
For all who want to eat me whole.

When I wake I wait for my dreams
To become reality I open my arms
Wide and welcome newfound sweetness.

In my days I remain sour and people
Choke as they try to force me down their throats
My nights see me red-faced and sweat-drenched with effort

I try to make amends with those
I’ve disappointed who sneered at my rigidity
Those who want answers for my sharpness

But I have no answers or antidotes
I only have my dreams where I do everything right
Where I am exactly who people want me to be

Because women who look like me don’t
Stand a chance if they aren’t palatable
To women who look like you.