I feel like a cherry with the pit of a peach,
there's something within me that isn't quite me
my skin's far too polished, my bite far too ****
and this fuzz and this sweetness are tearing apart
who I am

I struggle to just exist in this space
and sometimes I wish that I could erase
this part of me

The boundaries that stem from neurodivergence
we are taught that our true selves are toxic deterrents
we are punished for existing in the ways that we must
so we seal off these parts, behind layers of dust
buried beneath evermore branches of olive
until we can no longer see through this wall of

"I'm not"
"I'm sorry"
"I'll leave you alone"
"I didn't,"
"I don't,"
"I'll put down the phone."
"My hands just get restless."
"It's nothing, don't mind."
"Look anywhere else."
You know what you'll find
beneath

We know that we're stonefruit
we know that's a sin
but once seeds have rooted, they must draw light in
we don't get a say in living like this
we didn't choose, but we do exist

so maybe, a peach, with the pit of a cherry
I'm smaller and bitter and some find that scary.
But peel back my skin, I'm still flesh underneath
Softer and tender and gentle and sweet

I might be either. Maybe I'm both.
Either way neither's deserving self loathe.

I finish this poem six months after start
I'm a fruit, I'm a queer, I'm a pie, I'm a ****.
The label's a what. I know who I am.
So bite me, pulp me, turn me to jam.

I'll still taste as sweet, still bite as sour
My flesh will still be yours to devour
Consume me, observe me, but do not define
Fruits  cannot grow from branches confined.