trees
trees
trees
why don't we
plant more of these

below the many benefits
of trees shall be shown
and how wonderful it is
to see them fully grown

neath a goodly shading oak
we can shelter from the sun
whilst children run around it
having tons and tons of fun

the precipitation process
needs trees for dousing rain
were we to be without
them life wouldn't sustain

spreading tree roots keep
the soil's profile stable
by meshing together in
an excellent natural cable

trees
trees
trees
why don't we
plant more of these

Woe to humanity
who has severely fallen
who “in the image and likeness
of God” they say
are disfigured, like the devil.

Woe to humanity!
They really do have fallen.
They go all out to war
to exploit and condemn all flaw
and all that’s different between them.

Woe to humanity…
They have yet to preserve life
There is no peace
For they have yet to cease
the fire that has burnt us down.

Woe to humanity,
their prayers are in vain.
Salvation is but
the things of this world
and all they have yet to gain.

Woe to humanity
who has so much to offer.
And yet we have failed
and all the more,
fallen.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless ***. I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.

But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.