“Without roots, a tree wouldn’t live,”
“They are the structure, What gives the tree importance,”
Then why do I have this utter need to tug at my roots
Rather than accept them?
See, my roots Haven’t grown in until the age of two.
I had no garden to show to this newer world
Upon entering it;
And I don’t remember being told in the womb
How this world would be a lot less comfortable.
Every seedling is the same
Before it emerges out of the motherly soil’s caresses,
The only place where no one could hurt you
Or poison you with choking fertilizer
For being different.
Why did my roots ever have to exist
By leaving that deep, brown comfort?
Why did they have to curl in different directions?
Couldn’t they have been straigter
Like the majority of the blonde roots and
Blue petals in this scary greenhouse?
“Strangle me chemicals!”
I don’t want to shine and stretch to the sun.
I don’t deserve any loving moisture.
I just want the curls to stop.
Just stop them! Please!
I would rather be pretty than grow naturally.
My branches are my only shields to avoid the fact
That my roots
Were a curse.
This structure had to be a curse. I
have to avoid the glaring.
Including the glaring of my own leaves
When viewing my own
Would it be bad to ask someone to clip me
Clip me from the Earth’s grip
So I can be finished with this grounded pain!
I’m pretty sure It would hurt a lot less