It itched when the first bud came
black, brown, tucked in green.
And I wore it in shame
hidden in my left rib.
It teared through skin
‘til it drew blood
as it grew bold.
So I started to tilt as I walked
with a branch that sprang far above.
It got covered in blooms as you spoke
and I let you steal one, confused,
that you were tender yet cruel.
And then they started to come
to bring forced tears and fake gifts,
asking for gold and immutable youth,
stealing a branch as they spoke
of a featherless bird and a girl
that morphed into a tree
waiting for the rain
to bring joy.
Then I stopped blooming so
I would enjoy all alone
the rain as it fell on
every single branch of the girl
morphed into a tree
waiting for you