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Donielle May 2017
Your wind uprooted all I have known as typical of boys
and planted the seeds of men
to show me that to love is to have true strength.

My shingles were weathered, claimed to be made
to withstand someone like you,
but at the first sight of you I ripped the nails out myself.
insomniatrical May 2017
I want to hold you
And trap you in the sap of these pines
Because I know you would not run,
You find beauty in the ugliest of places.

I want to lock you in a cedar box
And leave you be until you beg my name
Because I know you like the smell,
You always were more with nature than I.

I want to hang you up in a great oak
For the whole world to see
Because I know you think you're wretched,
But you're beautiful to me.
Phoenix Bekkedal Apr 2017
Re-peat-peat-peat-ing
This…
Is trying for me
Stuttering up the tall trunk
Of a tree impossible to climb
Whoop
Phoenix Bekkedal Apr 2017
The tree
By my birth
Stood strong
To compensate
For my weakness

The tree
Afterward
Stood stronger
For I was the tallest
In my class and my head

The tree
I loved never
Never fell nor waned
At the sight of the moon
Nor lightning streaming down

This tree
Stems out my
Hefty brooding lungs
Stems out my
Every ambition
Grows from my
Red blood and
How I hum with
Unbelievable strength
Out your window
Beckoning you to listen to
The tree in me
The tree in me is an old oak with scars on its branches of young lovers carving their ambitions into my skin.
Scarlet Niamh Apr 2017
You pulled me close and I smelled leather,
the scent of rain clinging and weaving
through you like ivy. Your breath rustled
like the trees we climbed together, laughing
and carefree. My eyes were as blue as the dead
sea and yours only looked at me. We
sat in those branches, warm and safe.

Sometimes in the dark the smell of morning
dew and fresh leather hits me and I feel
a melancholy too intense to understand.
I hear your breath next to me. My eyes
used to be as blue as the dead sea, yours
are a distant memory. Now I sit in these
branches, cold and alone, wondering
when you will come home to me.
~~ Ah, the shivers of loneliness along my arms. ~~
Jawad Apr 2017
Tell me the story
About the war
And the mother
Who used to worry
Under your branches
About her son so far
Away from her
In the trenches

Speak
About the two lovers
Who used to coddle
Each other
Next to you
Who carved their name
On your trunk
Who promised
To remain
A couple
Forever
And never let
Their flame
Fade
And wait
Until the war
Comes to an end
So they can
Wed...


Tell me
Of the little girl
Who used to scream
And jump
Around your trunk
And sometimes pump
Into you
So that you
Would rain
A few leaves
On her hair

What about...
The fire!
Who brought you hell
So that
You can’t tell
All the secrets
You know
To the crow
And inspire
The young men
Sitting there
To write stories
About you

Tell me
Tree
About your story..
If trees could only talk...
Danika Apr 2017
my favorite picture of myself
was taken in a redwood forest

I stood next to a tree
at the age of seventeen
and the height of six feet
and about 130 pounds

and for once
I felt short
and not the giant myself
4/28/17
Jack Jenkins Apr 2017
Friends are a lot like
leaves of a tree,
or roots of a tree.

They're in your life for
a few seasons and fly,
or in your life forever...
Maybe this metaphor is why I feel so uprooted anymore...
Donielle Apr 2017
We were lovers before we were friends.
You wanted to build a nest in my tree
before bothering to climb it
or learning me
to see whether or not my branches
could hold your home
filled with things upon things.
You wanted big things
nice things
shiny and expensive things.
You didn't want to decorate me,
you wanted to use me like a coat rack
to hold your winter coat
over summer.
You never asked if I liked things.
You assumed
that there are things I like
and things that I don't like
but it isn't things that I want -
it's people
and feelings
and moments.
It's everything that can't be bought
that brings me joy.
But you,
you were so sure
that if you filled my mouth with
money
it would mute the sound of my discontent.
But it only made me creak louder.
And when you tried to keep my hands busy
with the job of holding the things
you bought for me,
you thought
it would stop me from
pushing you away
when you whispered at night
that you loved me,
and now it was my turn to say thank you
by doing things
written in fine print
at the bottom of your receipts.
But you can't pay me to stand tall,
to hold your things high off the ground
when the flood waters rise.
You can't place your coins in a slot
to make a tree bend to your wind
or let you tether off your boat
to weather a storm beneath her limbs.
You slipped me so many tips,
but I don't have a price.
We were lovers before we were friends,
and we were strangers long
before we said goodbye.
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