I am a tree in a park
Nothing spectacular, but beautiful nonetheless.
My ideas are the limbs,
twisting in every direction, each idea sprouting more off of the last.
My uncertainties
Are the results of the wind.
If all were still maybe I wouldn't need to doubt myself.
My feelings come in the form of flowers
steadily growing into something strong
Then dying in the night with contemplation.
The roots are my friends
For they help to shape me
and decide who I should be (whether they try to or not).
My battle scars are the slashes through hearts and long-ago traced initials
carved into my trunk
From love that's been lost.