Deforestation

 

If my body was a tree,

I would have spend half my life trying to chop my very self down.

Uprooting myself from the soil that sustains my life, shielding myself from the sun rays that support my soul.

If my body was a tree, my bark would be littered with hesitation marks from when I tried to cut myself down.

Cutting deep enough to hurt but not enough to harm.

Unlike when lovers carve their initials into trees this was not done out of love

Exposing my insides to what the outside world would bring.

If my body was a tree,

My branches would be bare and my insides rotten and mold.

But

My body is not a tree

My body is flesh and bone

Covered in reminders of what I once was, faded but not forgotten

My body is not a tree

My body is strong and supported

I’m rooted deep in self acceptance of what I have no control of

I learned to embrace what I tried to destroy.

I nourish my life and cherish my soul.

My body is not a tree.

No one can cut me down.

Not even myself.

This poem is about: 
Me

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