The Tree and I

Reading the "Giving Tree"
again at age twenty-three,
made me reflect on
my current anger with my mother.
She has been there for me
but as I have grown older,
she became the boy and I became the tree.
I wanted her love while
she expects a lot from me.

I allow her to take what she needs
but it has been hard when she does not
give me what I need.
Her support and understanding is what I yearn
while I give her my apples and leave.
All I hear are harsh words
of anger and ungratefulness.
I have become her punching bag
as it has been too much to bear.

As I was the boy and now the tree, I
see all that I have once done
leaving my mother with nothing but a stump,
as she that continues to ask to
return what I once took from her.
But I am still merely a teenage tree
where I can only give her
My love and attention that
she once gave me.

Rereading Silverstein's, "The Giving Tree,"
I am sorry for what we have become.
I no longer wish for this toxicity
May we sit down and rest
and talk like when we used to?

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

Comments

everyonehatesmebutIDGAF

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