R A G E

inside this tree of me

I feel it, it has slithered in through my eyes and ears (from the things I've seen and the things I hear) and found a home inside my heart. 

Like a tree, it has rooted and I can't dig it up. I am force to let it grow: this sadness. 

The branches of my sadness have sprouted from my fingertips, causing me to write all these words to you. 

They've wrapped around my wrists and ankles, forcing me to feel so tired and weak. I lie in bed most of my free time. 

The branches have peeled back my eyelids--I can't sleep. I cry instead. 

They've curled around my tongue--I can't speak, my words wooden and unfeeling. 

This tree inside me hasn't made me stronger--it hasn't made me stronger. Only harder and greener (more prone to jealousy).

I shake in fear, in the shadow of this great oak.