You are not a pear.
Not soft, or taller than the others.
Familiar, but not the one.
I despair- you whisk every part of me
Scooping up air
I grow and grow but little parts
I never wanted
Your cells to remain
I never asked to keep one there, had no intention of nurturing anything you left behind
Was willing to burn it all
Or let it at least fade quietly
In my old cigar box
This is something else.
We made our bed
And so I must lie in it.