Trees

Stop trying to claim me.
I am not yours to own,
to covet and
show off to a world
that doesn’t even care
that you want me for
your vanity.

I am not an extension
of your ill trimmed tree
nor a leaf on your
unstable branch.
My face, my hair
my blood and my skin
I grew on my own.

My beauty is mine,
my conscience is mine
and my soul that’s spun
from my trauma that you
gave me is
mine.
Let me wave in my breeze.

Published by R.T

Brit born and Canada bound, I run On Tuesdays, my poetry blog where I write weekly(ish) poems.

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