Poems I've learned to hate

Cole

I found comfort in a weeping willow
She hid in the middle of a medow as huge as I image the universe to be
branches swaying in the wind
Her leaves letting the breezes drift through
Her bark smelling of beetles and ants that made homes inside of her
I watch as her leaves flipped
Her branches crumbled and cracked
Her Bark chipping away growing rapidly with throns so thick that people believed they could with stand bullets
Her trunk became every other persons hiding spot for weed
Soon the smell of pot turned into plastic
Her medow became littered with wirey mouth badgers and black dogs
My safe place faded
It was never supposed to fade.