These trees of red.
They tear me, scorn me, and weaken me
Wrapped in fences a thousand feet tall.
Their thorns laced in the very essence of envy, soil my soul
My blood stains the trees crimson.
But I look toward the sun
to the day when it will all be okay.
For these trees won’t stand together forever
and when they part
I will be a bud from the definition of strength.
The trees, singularly, are just twigs
They will only ever be crimson stained twigs
And I will bloom
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