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
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