Okra
Jacob Brodkey | 6th Grade, Room 216
A little Gray Building
Covered in soft hairs like the top of my dad’s head
I bite into it
Crunchy like a fresh apple from the farm
Releasing the goop held inside
Slimy like a slug
Extremely bitter
With its seeds bursting with every bite
Tongue puckering like a persimmon
It feels enormous and peculiar
Even disgusting
I love it
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