By RUAA LABANIEH
Staff Writer

My eyes flicker and blink past the filled crates,
the skins of the fruits had sealed their fates.
Orange is for oranges,
except when their rinds curl and unhinge.
Yellow is for pear,
except when their thin, fragile layers tear.
Green is for watermelon,
except when they burst from expected suppression.
Fruits are people,
the way they look and
the way they are is unequal.
For people are undressed
when the watchers arrest
their concealing clothes
and seep through their exterior for the dose
of unhealthy knowledge and an unexpected rose.
Thus, fruits are people,
the way they look and
the way they are is unequal.
For people bruise with one fall
and the bluish, yellowish, reddish flaw tells all.
From its spoils to its riches,
to the bitterest and the sweetest.
So, fruits are people,
the way they look and
the way they are is unequal.
For people are doomed
by what the consumers have assumed
building up the pressure
to taste good and pose well forever.
People are fruits,
the world is their crate
and their skin should not seal their fate.