You Are What You Eat

I'm orange because of the carrot 

I ate in a magic garden. 

I should've heeded the sign that read, 

"You are what you eat. Harken!” 

Peas were the first I ate

Off twining vines in there, 

Until masses of snaking sprouts

Sprung up amidst my hair. 

Before my coiling locks 

Lashed me to a legume, 

I plucked tomatoes, yellow in color, 

Supposedly family heirloom. 

Alas, my golden glow 

Drew bees onto my skin.

I swatted madly, found a knife,

And opened a honeydew melon. 

I savored the sweetness inside

Until I doubled in scale. 

I went rolling. What could I do 

But stuff my cheeks with kale? 

Kale suggests well-being, 

But knobby skin’s atrocious. 

So I picked a red pepper, long and slender, 

Whose heat was quite ferocious. 

Aflame, I realized the hour

And pondered tomorrow with dread. 

Tapered and tall, orange suits me. 

What would you've chosen instead?