Tree

They don’t understand
how my small body and developing mind
can hold so many leaves

How my feet go through suppression
yet hold the trunk that is my body,
they assume my toes are given space, my heels are moisture-filled, and my soles hold strong as roots.

They fail to understand 
the fact that my legs are 
constantly in insurrection,
they assume my knees willingly follow my energetic calves and 
my heavy thighs do not burden my every step.

They cannot fathom the drumbeat in my belly 
as I come near
nor do they understand the scars my back will never let go of.
They do not understand the tickle underneath my arms that guides me
nor the fixated position of my collar bones.

They assume the rain does not bother me, 
the burn of the breeze does not set aflame.

They find it hard to truly comprehend
the cracks in the skin on my neck,
the bumps behind my ears,
the drought my eyes experience after a flood,
the waterfall erupting in my throat,
the heaviness of my lids,
the itch of my eyebrows,
the envy of my lips.

They don’t understand any of it
yet they have all felt it before.