I identify more with the pomegranate

than I do with the human race.

not to say I'm as satisfying or as beautiful

or even as sweet as a pomegranate

but perhaps upon first glance there are similarities. 

in my coloring:

flushed cheeks are an inevitability;

at any given circumstance 

I'll turn at least 3 shades of pink.

it appears as though even my body is indecisive.

I'm not much to look at

from the outside

those who know what is within may tell you otherwise,

but you won't welcome me

until you have seen the scarlet jewels for yourself.

as I grow older, I'll shrivel

the seeds will turn brown 

lose their crunch 

my skin will surrender its pigment, its fulness 

and,

eventually, 

its life. 

if you manage to break me open, I bleed red. 

I'll stain the hell out of your carpet, trust me

but there's always a tide pen somewhere

and there's always new pomegranates.