I am a tree
That is still learning how to
Keep it's roots
Under moist soil
And away from little tripping feet.
I'm used to
Yawning
In the morning
Stretching
My branches
Until they have
Dropped the apple
Slightly too far from the tree.
And though I don't have
Much air
In my hair,
The leaves still fall.
Trust me when I say
It isn't worth it being this
Tall.
Sometimes I would long to pay
To not see everything.
The view from up here
Is ironically
Frightening.

Climb these heights
And I can't promise you no
Twigs in your hair
Or scratches on your arms.
This bark is rough
And these leaves,
Stubborn.
But the next time you
Stumble upon these roots,
Remember that I am the tree
That isn't all it looks.