Wait
A forest is a map that has learnt a foreign language
And forgotten its mother tongue.
Cut a tree open and dark sap will flow out,
Tasting of every person you have ever wanted to kill-
Sometimes you will bite down and taste your own name.

A forest has known loss like the sharp edges of a fork-shaped branch,
Every leaf only leaving behind leaf scars on a shoot (in autumn)
That has grown limp form unannounced winds that blow in the dark.
That is when spring came,
When the trees had forgotten to embrace themselves.

Spring kissed the leaves with forgiveness that left behind flowers,
It held onto barks that had become senile with hope
And pressed an entire ecosystem into poetry.
Spring brings fireflies with it,
That could burn with more brilliance than the Sun on a forest’s dark day-
Spring loves the forest even when its just broken up with Autumn
And even when it has just worn summer for the first time.

Don’t be plagued by Stockholm Syndrome for your nostalgia,
Turn yourself into a forest-
Shed your layers as if Autumn is all there is and then
Become spring and create light
By never apologising for choosing how to survive
When you were bones and questions.
Now, you’re solid and will never be afraid of drowning.