The world made her.

And the roots took her feet,

trapped her where she wasn’t welcome.

Caressed the body with the flora and the fauna

Stretched her limbs to no end

Oh the growing pains

How they made her screech and ache.

She never learned to care for herself

As if it was her secret little vice,

to stand behind and hide

And give the world a show when she was full of its trash

The hair

Tangled, messy, glorified hay

Which she dried to make silk and cotton

She scraped her skin to make her roads less bumpy

And blushed her face with venomous Berries.

While sweetened of vanilla bean and roses

With pine tree hives, and messy marks

Weeds tangled over her extremities

She was never nurtured

or conditioned to her own thorns.

Calloused fingers and Toes showing how far she’s gone.

Beast

You wild thing

Let the acid rain and Forrest flames hit you They see you

They hear you

You should be taking the cutting as a compliment,

At least they know you’re there to cut

And to hold and to use.