Bitter Stripes

I was a watermelon in the summer glazed sun. Ripe, juicy, full of wonder and exhilaration; for I was so sweet, my innocence intact.

You were a farmer, rough and cumbersome. You plucked me from the degrading dirt, for you wanted to taste my luscious pink flesh. You couldn't digest all of me, my seeds and rinds lay uneaten.

You moved on to find a more fruitful watermelon. Those parts you discarded were my rough bits, the parts you didn't understand.

But you were a farmer, and you didn't like what you didn't understand.