apples to oranges

i will be the first to admit that I know nothing of your plight,
never bothered trying to be the girl next door, and settled for
being tom-boy-skinned-knees-muddied-skirts
until i grew up and realized your irises were my mirror
so i contented myself with granny-smith dreams
my forbearers would tell me about true love

this morning, I woke up and ran my hand
over the craters carved into your face like karst topography;
caressed the pits and bumps underneath my fingertips
so I could read your expressions better
because I was so unused to the variation in texture
and all my life had been up until you was smooth

your acerbic nature eats through your smile
like calcium deposits and I am tired of biting into your neck
to find an un-ripened tartness because your skin curls up
the way I am entangled around your finger
like dried remnants of good intentions
peeled away until all I can taste
is the cloying aftermath of your nutrition,
but you leave bitter acridness in the back of my throat,
much like the way I am sure I would choke on
your affectations disguised as affection
and that confused me, because all I wanted
was to hide secret sugar pockets in your cheeks
the way that fujis surprise you because I understand
that it is difficult to see past my skin, even though
I keep trying to convince you that while my sweetness
is exceedingly rare, but it is there

but i am fucking sick of your apocryphal properties,
or perhaps i am just tired of buying from alchemists
in an attempt to heal virus flowing through my veins
that gnaws at the inside of my veins the same way
I find myself falling for you

because I am done with your jaundiced complexion
bordering on ruddy-red-delicious cheeks;

finished with being
second-best
silver-lining
fairy-tale
gilded-age-pyrite-dreams
that sparkle in pupils reflecting back at me
proclaiming that all you want is to be loved,
but it's unfair to compare apples to oranges