I deliberately look through the cherry bowl, 

Trying to decide which one will fulfill my sweet tooth. 

I search around for the perfect one. 

  

The soft ones usually taste bitter. 

The firmer ones still unripe, leaving a sour taste. 

The perfect ones not to hard not too soft, 

Leaving a sweet taste. 

  

And then there's the banged-up ones, I’m cautious of 

Tending to bring a path of two different tastes: 

One being sweeter than any of the other cherries 

The other being bitter, and hard to swallow. 

  

I go for the bruised one. 

Giving it a chance , 

Knowing no one else in my family will. 

  

Taking the cherry knowing my risk 

I’m left with disappointment. 

A bitter taste sits in my mouth, 

I should have known. 

  

I should have known that its never  

Worth the risk. 

No longer hungry for cherries I leave 

Giving a chance for the others in the bowl to rot too.