Writing

The tree stands tall,

The leaves an acid, disgusting, green

The trunk a rotting, putrid brown.

The trees were once something to smile at,

In a time forgotten long ago,

They flutter and buzz

Among the dandelions

Butterflies and bees

A girl

In the elementary school

Had to walk around

In an old grey T shirt

Way to big for her

Because

A sliver of skin

Not much thicker than my thumb

Was showing

And the teachers

Hold it together

Be a good kid

Set an example

Make safe decisions

Don't be obnoxious

Or greedy

Or spoiled

Or sassy

Or fresh

Lead your siblings

Your not their mom

But help them

deep shades of black and blue

pressed time again

to withstand the pain of remembrance.

I pick and scratch,

until it becomes a scab, a scrape—

revisited and reopened

in the dead of night

There’s a flower growing in the dirtiest of pits,

Rotting in the sewer,

Mildew seeping from the grate— untouched,

Bypassed by those who don’t stop to wait.

Buried,

A wisp of a wish— restless,