Reality

 As I pick the tomatoes off the vine. I swirl them in my hand. I feel its texture. It’s firmness. I examine its bright hue. I look for the sights around me. I listen for the bees. I smell for the flowers. I look for the hose to keep them watered. I seek the things that keep me fed. The grass grounds me to the earth. In your domain what am I?

I’m the apple of your eye

The gelato to the cone

Baseball to the American psyche

The truth is never pleasant

But it frees you

From your own prison

The enslavement

You created

Trying to be

The embodiment 

Of perfection

That is an illusion

Because its not 

An attainable reality

Love yourself and one another