I have a problem. Please don’t tell me that it will make you love me less. See for as long as I can remember, I’ve been a bad apple. I’ll never be as ripe and as fresh as the fruit you see. But I swear I still feel it in me that I have something to offer. I don’t remember days when I was pure nor sweet. Always I’ve had this rotten tinge across my teeth. Always I’ve said the things that no one wanted to think. I can play dress up and look however you want. But no matter how you see me, inside I can not change. I’ve got bad thoughts that I can’t control. If you’d care to know me like this. Would you love me less? I’m not good for you but I’d really like to be. I polished myself up and I’ll try to be delicious. I can’t hide a thing. I’m such an awful liar. Can anyone truly love such a mess as this. It’s simply too much. I try to make up for what’s rotten in my head. Bad apples must be thrown away. Please don’t get rid of me. I could be good. I could be appetizing. Oh, I wish I could.