Identity

Let them be as watermelon flesh
always colorful, palatable, valued, adopted
but ingested to humans’ greedy mouths.

I’d rather be a tiny, black watermelon seed ,
Embedding in the watermelon, like the stamen
Living under a beautiful, seductive appearance.

To have contained the ability to breed,
to give birth, to bestow life
Of the next generation.
To be abandoned by people,
discorging my body, my soul, into the dustbin
or be thrown-out in the corner at will.

I’d rather be ignored, and if
then disliked and avoided by everyone,
than to be a destined-prey watermelon flesh
forming the most outstanding surface among the watermelon
where it’s carved, divided, and exuded
by urgent, human hands.

I’d rather be rejected after entangled with lousy, disgusting saliva
than of fresh, sugary flesh.
If I could possess my own destiny, be functional and independent,
I’d rather be a tiny, black watermelon seed.