Poetry | Depression | Mental Health
Little Tree
Published in
Feb 7, 2024
Sometimes, I feel dead inside, like that sparkly, fun me died and left a shell.
When I stare off into the distance, blank and disconnected — nothing comes to mind.
I watch the trees sway in the wind, wishing I could be a tree.
Rustling leaves, swaying branches, weathering the storm, but always standing tall and with deep roots.
I feel like a tiny sapling, bent from the relentless winds, battered and with broken limbs.
The roots are shallow and desperately need water which does not come often in the scorching summer sun.
How do I fix my little tree?
