Down the line
your fat self sits content
at a life spent mostly decent

Your green cheeks absorb for now
and by ****** you grow,
occasionally showing off
to love and wince at later
on Timehop

You don’t think of roots.

Why would you?
Your wood grows supple
and strong with you
alone

But roots make you belong
and yield

Our youthful skill
of ignoring feelings
sticks with some