I Color (I Am Not Plum Purple)
You need to get this straight so you don’t get hurt again, okay?
I am not the thick skin of an eggplant, so don’t you think I am. I’m not even the bitter that darkens the water when you cut one up and soak it.
I am not plums, which are sweet, or even beets that bleed on your white t-shirt and your hands too and even ruin that new kitchen towel you got at the Dollar General Store for a buck.
Beets are sweet as plums and like I told you, I am not sweet. You hear me?
I’m the nasty surprise that’s not advertised. Nobody expects me, not for real. Not even the ones who think they know what’s what.
You follow the recipe to the letter. Cut up the chicken, soak it in buttermilk then season it and bread it just right─ because you love him and you want to love them too, right? So you cook it at the recommended temperature for the recommended time and turn it twice even though the hot oil spatters and burns you, even though it’s all let’s face it a pain in the ass. You even make all the sides─ mashed potatoes, biscuits, corn on the cob, coleslaw and still, after all that, when the ugliest one bites into a leg and sees that bruised not-quite-brown, not-quite-red streak at the bone (which is ME) she drops it on the plate and sneers right at you. And then the beady-eyed one does the same thing, except with a juicy breast. And that’s it. The last straw, the end of your rope. You have had it. You have had IT! You remember all the slights, all the disrespect and how even though it’s not like anybody else is standing in line to love and care for them nothing you’ve ever done has been good enough. And he’s not much better. He could at least say “Mmmm” or something. If you had known how it would be you would’ve just gone to the Colonel’s, wouldn’t you? And kept your heart in your pocket instead of putting it on your sleeve. And for somebody else’s leftovers at that.
Alright then, girl. Now do you understand? Do you finally get it? I’m the hurt hits so hard it bruises your heart. That’s all!
Don’t even act like you ain’t been warned.