Two trunks that hold me
Are the only home to my leaves;
The fruits I bear, the ticklish flowers
Stay on board with us.

The other trees laugh at me,
I’m not as pretty as them.
They say they play with four kids,
While I play with ten.

The number keeps increasing,
Their laughter rings through me.
To get an upper hand right now
Is all I want for me.

I let the fruity fruits fall,
I let my flowers wilt.
As the doomed days go by,
The kids refuse to stay.

From ten to one, the number falls;
The trees give their approval.
But, oh my god, what haste it was…
I couldn’t grow too tall.

The chicken roots snap apart,
I wobble on my own.
The two sticks that hold me
Give up, I killed my own heart.

Photo by David Alexandersson on Unsplash