She Learnt To Burn From The Inside Out

She grew in shades of summer green, a quiet canopy, unseen. When autumn came, she shed her gold, and swallowed down the bitter cold. The world came by with heavy steel, to test how much the wood could feel. They struck the bark, they chipped the core, and day by day, they hacked some more. Because she never screamed or shook, the world just took and took and took. A smiling mask, a bleeding chest, she broke while trying to look her best. Until the day the forest rang, with one abrupt and heavy clang. "Why stay so quiet?" the world then cried, "Why didn't you say it hurt inside?" But you were taught to stand and bear the crushing weight of heavy air. To never speak, to never shout, until you burned from the inside out.