The Anna Tree

Oh troubled girl who hides her face, beneath the trouble she can’t erase. She stands alone almost with distaste, at the others her gender based. I feel not woman if that what woman be, I am not a man I must be a tree. A tree I am without a doubt, these knots and twists in side me shout. My skin is bark and hardend that within, the sap can flow about. Though graceful branches the wind will blow, my feet seem fixed to the earth below. A tree has no face to look upon, That suits me fine my face is gone. I need not hide from troubled tout, a faceless tree a face without