The Apple Doesn’t Fall From The Tree

I fell from my tree.

Yet I am not scared.

I accept I am falling.

Whether I die or not does not elude me.

I felt happy.

As if I was waiting to fall since the day my flower bloomed.

I hit the ground.

My skin is splitting open.

The layer of sweetness that I held dear,

Now dirty with mud.

My bitter core still safe.

Gifted to me by my tree.

My tree.

Above me It looks down.

As if knowing from the start I’d end up like this.

But I get up.

My wounds will heal eventually.

For I will not stay with this tree.

Because it is not mine.

It never was.

And it never will be.

1 2