Just Me

                                        I
                                    wish I
                                could be a
                                    tree.

                                        I
                                    wish I
                               could have
                          thick, deep roots
                       that tether me to life,
                   that tether me to my home,
            that tether me to reality and keep me
                                grounded.

                                       I
                                   wish I
                               could stand
                         strong even when
                     the wind tries to shove
                   me over, because I keel at
              even the slightest breezes, at tiny
                                  pains.

                                       I
                                  wish I
                             could build a
                        wall of tough bark
                     to protect me from the
                                 world.

                                      I
                               wish my
                            tears would
                       only be water for
                      me to grow stronger
                                  with.

                                      I
                                wish I
                            could stand
                          brave, fearless,
                      independent, on my
                                  own.

                                      I
                                  am not
                             a tree, even
                            though I truly
                           wish I could be
                                   one.

                                      I
                                  am a
                                human,
                              and I need
                           support, and I
                        cry when it hurts,
                   and huge gusts of wind
                knock me off balance and
          take away all the certainty I used to
      have, and I sure don’t feel stronger when
 the world tries to bend me over and break me in
                                   half.

                                    But
                                 I might
                              be more like
                       a tree than I thought,
                    because trees also can be
                  eaten away inside by disease
             like jealousy, or heartbreak, or loss,
       and they’re always cut down to make paper,
or just to replace them with blocks of gray concrete.
                                   And,

                                     I
                             will grow
                        back when I’m
                    hurt, like a new tree
                  will grow when the old
          one dies, and the stronger version
        of me will be like that fresh, new tree,
                                  but

                                     I
                                still am
                     not a tree, because
                  I can heal after disease,
                and someone will push me
          upright if I ever bend under pressure,
     and while people may try to cut me down,
    I don’t have to let them, because I can walk
                                 away.

                                     I
                                 don’t
                                think I
                             want to be
                        a tree anymore.

                 I think I just want to be me.

‍