Letters from sixteen

A hollow tree

Poems written from the perspective of a hollow tree.

Me
I have always felt like I am fundamentally different in a very ugly way.
I didn't look the part, I guess I try not to, I appear and move like anyone else would, but I have this sense that I am living dishonestly when I do such things.
It seems that while I can play my part, it is just that, a part.
A part of the loud one, the one who speaks his mind and says whatever he pleases.
I figured that's what they wanted, so that's what I gave them.
I don't feel guilty for being the person I am supposed to be, but it does leave me feeling alone and achy.
I am alone and achy because they see me and my spot on a stage, but as much as I tell myself I am happy to play the part, I wish they saw me.
Although I understand that if they knew me they'd leave me.
Why wouldn't they?
I am dramatic yet monotone, I am emotional yet numb.
I am a walking contradiction, even more than the next.

False perceptions
I don't remember when the hallucinations started, I guess it's possible they've always been there.
When I was young I was haunted by them.
I felt terrified not only because of what I saw but what they would see in me.
I remember their faces when I told them about the voices, maybe it's not that I remember their faces as I remember how those looks told me I was crazy.
It was very difficult to find people who didn't think I was completely gone.
Although things haven't changed in the slightest, one could say they've gotten worse, these false perceptions don't leave me scared like they once were.
Last night i was looking in the mirror and I saw my eyes one minute and the back of my head the next, I hadn't moved the slightest bit.
I laughed a bit to myself.
Maybe I am a little gone, maybe things about me are a bit different.
But I tell you this, I will not be stifled but what you cannot see.

You will try but nothing will fill you
I am a hollow tree, I always have been, and I can't see a world where I will not always be.
It seems that this type of vast emptiness doesn't want to be filled.
Believe me when I say I have tried every possible thing you could imagine, but I remain endlessly hollow, nothing has come close, and I hold onto what I tell myself has.
I grip what makes me feel less than vacant with everything I have.
I force myself to play the part because maybe that will shake him awake.
Maybe the person I pretend to be is lurking around the corner, waiting to fill me.
I hold onto those moments that make me forget, but they never fill.
I will follow the pill and bottle until my legs hit the ground in exhaustion.
They don't fill me, like I said, nothing will, but for a moment in time it doesn't ache like it always does.
I often wonder if there is really anything in those glasses or bags that will fill me.
But no amount, no number of pills or empty bottles will do anything but pass the time with a possibility of more ease.
The list of things that have failed to make me whole is longer than any the list of things left to try.

The loneliest evening
I don't think I've ever been this alone, when you look at this from above, I am almost grateful, I say this because if I am truly alone, there is nobody to change for but myself.
I am in my loneliest evening, I am in my darkest hour, and it seems to me that I play my part well enough to keep them from worrying.
This sense of being not only misunderstood but unseen is a pain like no other.
Yet if given the chance, I wouldn't have it any other way.
If I let them in, I mean really let them see me, I will become another version of what they wish I was.
So in the dead of night I am glad for the sting of the night.

Heart shaped wicker basket
I really admire myself for walking through the depths of the woods with my heart shaped wicker basket.
I walk through the unpaved path, I climb and stumble through the unknown, all with my heart shaped wicker basket untouched and unharmed.
It's not only that I wish to get out of the woods, but I wish to be in those sunny meadows with a greater understanding and a knowledge that I will not be anywhere but where I want to be.
The woods, being the dark endless night that it is, teaches you things.
When I made it to the first sunrise I stopped by the river and picked out a lovely brown stone.
I carry it with me knowing that the darkest nights are always the first ones, if I made it through the first I will make it through the next.
So while I am still lost in this endless forest, I know I am closer to the grassy fields every day.