Journey to Your Deepest Self

I am a Tree

And old.

Fierce wind

whips ‘round me,

loosens and scatters

the dried leaves

of weary, winter fears

and leaves me

almost naked.

Everyone,

anyone

can see me!

No full-grown leaves of modesty

to cover my blemishes,

the turn of my limbs,

my knobby wrists and elbows.

My begging arms,

my ancient, grounded roots

apparent.

I tremble,

springing

with the rush of air.

Shake with the dread

of being judged

too big.

Cut down.

Shake and shake

until I know I want

to grow again.

My new leaves flail,

lit with an urgency

to reach and move,

show off, hang on,

roll with the punching gusts.

I begin to enjoy this ride,

this freedom, and my leaves’

determined grip,

their laughter as they clap

green hands together.