Thomas Ballenthin

a peach

Sometimes, as I walk away from a game,
I wonder what people are thinking of me.
Do they see past the casing of athletics?
Can they see how I actually think, how I actually feel?

This is not the case,
Despite what people may see.
It is only the outside of a more complicated being.
It is just the mere skin of the fruit.

Sometimes I can be sweet, other days sour,
A few bruises, soft spots that can be seen.
But it is the meat of me, my mood, my attitude,
Surrounding and protecting the core.

The hard piece below all of it is the real me,
All that I believe, everything that I feel.
Beneath all of it, out of sight, lies the core,
Where the real peach, the future waits to sprout.


Copyright © 2002-2010 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2010 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.