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Poem

The shade is nice under the large tree, but once the shade is lost, the wanderer will die.
When the small tree can finally leave the shadow of the larger tree, it can feel the sun’s ray.
But the shadow is comfortable, a part of existence.
Because I live in her shadow, as wonders pass buy and seek her.
They don’t see me, concealed behind her mightiness.
When a villager talked to the small tree, she felt special. He told her how much he liked her.
Until he saw the larger tree and lusted after her. She was the better version.
Because wonderers only ever talked to her so that they could eventually get to the larger shade.
Slowly, slowly, deceiving like in their human nature.
They make her feel special, complimenting her magnificent shade, until they look over and see a shade even better.
So she doesn’t let wanderers take shade under her anymore, because she knows they will eventually leave.
So they hate her, are they wrong to hate? No. let them hate, because she doesn’t feel anymore.
And she won’t let anyone in anymore.
Then call her all you want, being selfish to not let anyone in her shelter.  But why do you blame her when she was never valued?
Never complimented for being her own magnificent shade.
Always the lay-under for the large tree. Not its own person.
So why do you say she doesn’t trust you anymore? Because trust is the thing she has lost.
She isn’t the large tree. She is the small tree, whose shade no one likes. (When compared),
She is always number two.
So she doesn’t talk to them anymore, fearing they’ll only value her until they reach their destination.
So don’t say she is selfish, when you are the one that compared her to someone she can’t ever be.
The girl she can never beat. The girl who is better.

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