You are not a tree
His words are not your roots curling their toes under
Locking you into the soil that is his embrace
You are not stuck

In elementary school, there was a crepe myrtle next to the tennis courts that all
the kids would run to just to tear apart
We would rip off pieces of bark just to see them dry up and change color the next day
We decided that this was our tree and carved our names into what was left as a reminder

But you are not a crepe myrtle
You can’t let him rip pieces of you away until you feel like you’re rotting from the inside and your skin starts to change color
You can’t let him carve his name into your chest to remind you that he was there
That he left you with pieces of yourself lying on the ground around you and
arms too short to pick them up again

This winter he was the bitter wind that stripped your branches and pushed you over until you could no longer stand up
And I know that when he kisses you
it’s the spring rain that makes you
forget winter even happened and
your roots are still reaching out for him
But please, remember this
You are not a tree
If you aren’t happy
Leave