This Tree

This tree that grows inside of me is my very own. Rooted deep and buried far the seed of my beginning unknown. My leaves they wilter from years of hanging low and this tree that grows inside of me is my very own. Shower me with love and I willingly grow; vibrantly, cognizant, existing in my very own. My blossoms have been plucked and used for others gain. my lovely bark scraped and scathed in others names. I hide with myself far above my tree. For these roots are the only thing barely grounding me. Hack away at my body use it for your shelter, I am used to being used for your inconsolable swelter. Plant your weeds around me let them thrive from I. Your hurt has become the part of me that I cannot compromise. My body bent and aching, standing on its own, my Sap pure but leaving me for your very own. Use my bark and write your lies all over me. Implant me with your pesticides; Gods plan faulted by human sacrifice. I am a tree still standing, buried inside of me. I am a me still living, for how can a tree ever be truly free.