I am a tree.
A real tree with real bark.
As I've grown taller and older
My branches have been sheared.
The little pieces of me,
My old self.
I lean now,
Slightly to the right,
Imperfect and not standing tall.
I've been through a lot in my life
Leaves falling, branches breaking,
Bark peeling and moss growing.
I no longer fit in with all the
Straight and narrows around me.
In fact I am unique
The only one like me for miles around.
I am a real tree,
And for that I am proud.