As children we are much like trees
Planted firmly in the ground,
laid gently against the support of the story we should grow into
and given on our own Earth day
Our parents carrying every intention of making the world better.
As a child we find ourselves accepted into the school
Of Once upon a time.. and we are taught
to want, to aspire, to graduate with our very own
Happily Ever After.
When we were little,
our mothers cradled us for years against the frame they intended we grow into
laid us to rest at night
and whispered bedtime stories of the adventures we ourselves would create
and we watched
waiting for “happily ever after” to be engraved with our name.
As we grow We find that the frame falls away,
our spines like those of books ready to bear our story on their own.
assuming our roots are deep enough in this fertile soil,
positive that our grasps are strong enough
Now Watch Waiting
So we begin our search, for our Happily Ever After
only to find that there are countless...
where the positivity that our roots would guide us to our own Ever After
is a lesson that there is not only one ending
but many Afters
I have found that I am an imperfectly perfect tree.
Like a oak tree, my name exudes strength
but my branches tell another story
each signifies an abandoned, failed, or forgotten ever after...
and none are quite happy.
I found that like my parents craved I would become
My roots have held strong
as my branches were wracked by hurricanes of emotions
struck by the lightening of an unnecessary quip
or sunken under the weight of yet another broken promise
My trunk bears the carvings of the hearts i once resided in
beneath me lay poppies concealing the blood that slipped through the cracks of
a heart broken many times over
And the land around me lays empty, echoing my solitary
my leaves like the ghosts of every unfinished fairy tale
fall in slow motion haunting my memories.
And as I stand bare, forced to face the one too many failed attempts that I believe my branches are
If there was one happily ever after,
a tree would be but a sapling,
shooting straight up aimlessly reaching into infinity
with each branch comes a new possibility,
a new possible ending,
and while the weight of each imagined ending sinks you low in the ground,
forcing your roots to begin to surface
Look down and take this note:
A trees age and story is not told by its branches,
but by the rings within its core
Each layer a tribute to the storms we endured
but by the marks against it's trunk
Reshaping your identity
but by the depth of it's roots.
We are more than one simple "happily ever after"
More than this futile soil our parents believed in
More than the leaves that decorate our branches only a few seasons out of many.
More than our branches.
We are defined by our roots.
For that is our hold on this life.