She grew amongst the twisted branches of the tallest trees.
Tried remembering the days and nights
that often felt like dreams.
Sounded like war.
Smelt like smoke.
Tasted like powdered milk.
Looked like lies.

She ran her fingers along jagged edges,
Following district lines like she followed Brandon.
A peaceful life,
Full of truth.

Truth spirals out of control
When you can’t tell what is truth
And what is a dream that lives
Out of pocket.

But she lived,
So it must have been a good life.
Unable to change the situation,
She tried to change herself.
The loneliest Willow of the trees.

She was manmade,
Formed by the hands of people
Who were just people.
And so her twisted branches tied knots among her roots.