The Bad Apple

That’s what you are, says grandma. She’s the one, out of the two, that has white hair and stands short.

Why?

Simple. You come from a very strong tree—thanks to me. But the branches that breathed you, brought you to life, were young.

Mom and dad?

Yep. Those two. But being the bad apple is special. Know why?

I’d sure like to-

Spoiled. Your core lacks structure. No structure. You despise it. You’ll never learn it. And that’s why your taste isn’t for everyone.  Bruised. You’ll never be left to just sit around in a dingy colored basket with the rest of us. Bruises are what you get from being thrown on your own path, free to roll..and roll…and roll….and roll. Roll around the world for the birds, for the sun, for the people, for the earth.

Ouch. I guess I am a bad apple.

No, not a bad apple. The Bad Apple.  But I’ll explain all that another time.

…

So that is just what this blog represents. A non-structured/ free verse creative realm in which I can release poetic sketches. Stories. Moments.

-Lacy Phillips