My earliest memory is of baked apple pie
from the golden arches. (Sorry.)
Then there was the childhood diversion
to chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream.
Then my taste buds developed
and I was strawberry rhubarb pie.
I was Boston Creme Pie for a bit,
because of my first girlfriend.
But she broke my heart,
and now it tastes bitter to me.
And then I figured out
I didn’t need to be different.
I could always be strawberry rhubarb,
because that’s who I really am.
And if you don’t like me, that’s okay;
there’s plenty of other flavors out there.
And then the more I thought about it,
I realized life is sweet – and tart.
/ / /
This poem was written in response to the my life as a pie prompt at We Write Poems.