All I know is I am a tree in a human body, and my dead branches are overcrowding. Holding space for my leaves to fall, my flowers to bloom, for my roots to dig down into the earth with dirt between my toes. I am not happy but I am content. I am not well but I am okay. I am. Just as the trees exist. A human says I was and I will be. A tree says I am.


Lighting fire to my habits, my thoughts.

Heat creates change.

In protest, my patterns inflame, gasping for air.

A grab at survival.

Hitting the rocky bottom of my spirit, we get worse before we get better.

So they say.