Mr. Farmer planted a seed next to me.
"A big apple tree," she said she'd be.
I laughed a little, I found it silly
For all she was, was a little seed.
I should have feared her, it turns out
Because grow and grow, did that sprout.
And as my leaves began to wither,
I questioned if I was ever loved by the farmer.
The tree grew bigger, bigger, and bigger
And its roots pushed mine out,
And its branches hid the sun,
And I fell to the dirt and crumbled.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the average broken individual
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry tackling some topics very relevant to my life, including but not limited to: CPTSD, chronic Illness, depression, anxiety, dysphoria, dysmorphia, autism, childhood trauma, chronic pain, SA, lgbtq issues, discrimination...
