Roots

Dear You Know Who You Are,

 

I was little,

Too weak for my own good.

You made sure I knew it too.

I was a flower,

Frostbitten by a cold world.

You crumbled my fragility

With your strong, ruthless hands.

Year after year,

I regrew

Only to face an icy deterioration.

You constantly broke me down to my roots

And I loathed you for ruining what I perceived as growth.

But the destruction made me realize

That maybe it’d be better to be a tree,

With a wall of bark to protect the rings I would acquire as I matured.

So you destroyed that delicate bloom one last time

And I evolved.

You constantly broke me down to my roots,

In hopes that I would adapt.

You constantly broke me down to my roots,

Because you loved me.

I see that now,

Now that I am something capable of weathering a cruel winter.

You constantly broke me down to my roots,

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

 

-M.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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