It’s an infuriating thing when someone decides
And assumes they know you from the first bite
Or think that because you have layers to peel
You’re too difficult to care for
Imagine that feel
Imagine that pain when you’re picked from the tree
With wild and ambitious aspirations to be
Something great and something tasty
Something to be enjoyed
But I’ve just turned into something…
Because someone decided to leave me:
They decided these cruel things about me:
My flavor is too bland
My skin is not right
My texture is too gross
Overall, not ripe
Who will love me now?
What can i be?
I’m a half-eaten banana
But I look to my left and what do i see?
Some milk, some ice…
Ah, a smoothie!