The trees talk,
and they talk loud.
It starts off as a whisper, you know.
It slowly gets louder,
I turn away.
My head pounds with desperation,
the trees tell me things I don't want to know.
They tell me that I look bad in that dress,
my thighs have too many stretch marks,
They tell me that my arms are fat.
The trees are the numbers,
and they talk.
The numbers are our population,
and they talk.
Or is it my head?
I don't even know anymore,
am I insane?
God, do I feel like I'm going insane.
The trees tell me no,
that it'll get better.
But the trees, they lie sometimes.
Do I need help?
No, that'll make me seem even more insane.
I'll deal with it silently if I have to,
I'll let myself go to waste if I have to.
The trees can talk, but I give them the power to scream by listening.
YOU ARE READING
The Trees Talk
PoetryThe trees talk, they know what goes through your mind. The trees, they scream. +previously Perfection and Deception+
