withering willow
I stitched every sliver, each part of me as I start to wither like a willowing tree. My roots through the dirt, my limbs touch the grass—everything that hurts continues to last.
The wind bites at my leaves, it howls through me. All I can do is let it be. As hard as I try, as hard as I can, here where I lie is where I’ll lie again.
The vines through my wrists clench with my fist, flowing through me like oceans kiss. My armor will tether, and soon so will I, my skin like leather from where I’ve cried.
The sound of the waves that flood this shore, the ringing from caves collapsing once more. Underneath all this bark is only truly me—only a heart that can still bleed.
Soon I’ll leave just a stump in the ground, just like the others that aren’t around. They were here, just like us all. Now I’ll die uncomfortable.
B