the tree in the yard always gets the sun,
its leaves stretch toward the sky
like they've never known a day without it.
and i—
i stand in its shadow,
waiting for a little warmth
but only feeling the coldness
of everything i don't get to touch.
it's fine for the tree to grow wild,
to spread its branches out
as if the whole world was made
just to hold it.
but when i try to stretch,
i'm told the air isn't enough,
the space too small for both of us.
i water it,
i feed it,
i tend to it,
watching its flowers bloom
while my roots stay buried
in a soil that never seems to nourish me
the way it should.
when the tree drops its leaves,
no one blinks,
it's just part of the cycle,
part of the way things work.
but when i lose a piece of myself,
when i break,
it's too much,
too messy,
and i'm the one
who has to apologize
for the things that were never mine to begin with.
it's always its turn,
its season to shine,
and i'm left here,
caught in the quiet,
watching it dance with the wind
while i stay rooted,
stagnant,
unable to move.
and somehow,
i'm the one who ends up
feeling guilty
for wanting the same things,
for breathing in the same air.
i'm suffocating in the silence
of what's never been for me,
and i hate myself for it,
for caring too much,
for wanting to be seen
the way it is.
YOU ARE READING
poems
Poetrypoems i've written. i recommend reading from the bottom of the parts and working up to the first one. i promise they get better and more lengthy. the first few poems are rhyme schemes, the rest are free verse peoms. please don't take without credits...
