his Destruction

I am the giving tree...

torn down, dissected, burned.
Ghost pains from phantom limbs cut me,
even when the boys are long gone.

My growth was continually
stunted.
I gave myself away,
piece by beautiful
Piece...

gone, used, destroyed.
Only a stump remains,
36 rings exposed.

I bear the brunt of
man's destruction.
There is no way to hide
how the years have changed
Me.

My little seedlings,
green and new,
Arise toward the light,
unafraid.
My branches cannot
protect them from
Extending to the
sun.

Alas, my damage is
a reminder of
Life's unrelenting elements,
but fear does not stay them.

Why am I afraid?

I have no choice but to evolve
past the scars, past the pain,
Past the
past.

I am changing, even still...

I quench my thirst
on the rains of hope.
I release in the winds of change
the memory of what I could have been.
In the rich earth,
my roots of love extend to the beauty around me.

I will grow on.
I still give life.

I am the giving tree...


~Written 1/1/2015

For those women who bear the scars of abuse in any form.