Rising to meet the sun,
A relative of the wind and time,
His branches reach out,
Stretching from his slumber.
The forest flames awaken fear,
Into the heartwood at his core,
He gives the thought a shake.
He would like to see the spring,
After the falling snow glazes the forest.
A resident of nature,
The Redwood withstands it all.

I've said that I'm a drifter,
I've said it for many years.
When the hardest time in my life started,
my bark was stripped off.
I want to be strong, like oak
but I have become insecure.
I agree with things I would not approve of
just so people will not chop me down anymore.
I need to be grounded.
People come and go.
To me, this means I have to drift.
I must not get too attached.
I have trouble trusting anyone.
I don't know what my roots are either.
I don't know what my real personality is.
I get bits and prices of others and incorporate it into mine.
my branches have been carved and broken.
I have become plywood.
Plywood that does not fit anyone's needs.
I have a hard time using words like
"Love" or "Best"
to describe my feelings.
I see them as reserved words.
My heartwood is getting stronger
but my heart is not.