I am not made of the strongest of steel,
I was not created by copper, nor diamond, titanium, or zinc.
Forged from the vines that now interlace my veins.
Grown from roots that fuel my changing colors.
But I am strong.
Strong like the branches that do not shiver in winters cold.
I am born of the trees, and my roots run deep,
connecting me with the rest of this growing forest.
I am what I am, because of what we all are, because of what we all endure.
Every harsh storm that passes us, every drought that has tested our very being.
Strong because we have to be.
Strong because that is all we know.
But strong enough to know when a gentle breeze comes, to sway in it, to not resist, because it has no means to be our end.
I am born of the trees,
I may not grow to be the tallest of them,
nor will I have the most breathtaking leaves.
But sturdy I will stand, even if misshapen and petite.
And free I will be,
for no one can tell me how to grow.
No ownership can be slapped upon me.
I am wild
I am ever changing.
I am free.