Like you, I read "The Giving Tree" When I was young. And I drank in that definition of love With my roots. I wanted to be that tree. I wanted to give that love To everyone; to someone. And you found me And carved your heart on mine.
I have the scar.
And I felt loved For a while. It felt good to give; It felt good to see your smile, For a while. It felt good to give you shade and shelter, Stripping and shedding Everything, For you. And it became our life.
So how could I blame you for the way you were treating me Shearing me Expecting me to Give, to Love, to Serveβ Even when you no longer recognized me?
The rings on our fingers Spoke nothing of the truer rings, The rings recorded in me. It took many years to learn, Many years to chop away at that old definition, Many years to rip away the rotting bark, Many years of knowing that A tree is always there because A treeβs roots are stuck within the ground.