Your love is like a tree.
The roots are the beginning.
You were a sapling, your heart full of happiness. I cherished you for it. I watched you grow into this beautiful piece of art. When I fell for you, I made sure to yell, "Timber!" on the way down.
Your love was beautiful. It grew, from when you tossed seeds to make more plants grow, to when you held nests of captivating hope.
But your heart turned cold.
You shed your leaves, leaving me cold in the pouring rain. You kept quiet, and watched as I tore at your bark.
The splinters you left in my fingertips were a sign that screamed, "I've had it!"
Now, the birds find a new home. The seeds stop falling.
I enter the forest of you, chainsaw in hand. I chop down your love until there is nothing but land.
YOU ARE READING
Dandelions are Flowers
PoetryWhen you hear, "weed" you can't help but think of all of the bad things. But when you hear, "flower" you think of all of the good things. Why should dandelions be full of the bad, when they can be full of the good?
