The Trees
the skeletons of the naked trees have given up on standing tall and proud.
not one leave is left,
everything has turned into dust and dirt inbetween the cracks of the paving stones.
not a single one is recognizable anymore.
the trees, once proud and majestic, are now broken and bend, just enduring their fate,
trying to withstand the opportunity to drop their branches as well,
letting them break away and fall down on the muddy ground.
you dont know how loneliness feels like, until you watched the trees struggling in the winter
and then grow again in spring, new and fresh, full of potential, leaning towards the sun -
without anybody noticing it.
you dont know how lonliness feels like, until something good happens
and you have no one to talk about it.
you're used to people ignoring the boney, bare-branched plants,
because people dont like to look at unpleasant things.
if it doesnt sparkle healthy and screams out of joy,
we dont notice it, even if it bleeds diamond dust.
you're used to people ignoring bad news or your feelings of sadness or
the waves of depression and crippling self-doubt that come and go,
coming more often and staying longer as time goes on,
but it's a whole new way of rejectment
if nobody gives a fuck when you get better.
being alone while dealing with negative feelings is hard,
enduring a hard, cold winter is a struggle,
exhausting but worth it, a part of the wheel of time.
it's easier to cope with it, because you know at some point it will be over
and summer will always come again.
you will able to participate again in "normal" life,
seeing people, doing chores, suffering the "normal" amount again,
learning how refreshing it is to just be sad about a broken heart
or getting mad at a fuckboy and talking about it with your friends.
but what if there's no such thing like a relief at the end?
if you're forever repeating january,
cold sleet dropping from the dark sky, melted snow mixed with dog poop.
is being better worth anything, if no one notices it?
if no one sees the first rays of sunshine reflecting in the dirty puddle of old rainwater,
if no one celebrates you surviving once more?
right now, nobody cares how i feel.
not in a they-dont-ask-or-worry-way, more in a it-doesnt-matter-how-i-am-way.
because it doesnt. it has no influence on anyones life.
i dont produce oxygen or look beauiful at the sides of a road,
i'm useless.
if i cant leave my bed or eat or sleep or meet them or even just talk to them,
it makes no difference,
because they dont need me to be here.
i have no purpose,
nobody asks me for my opinion or needs my help or just wants to hang out with me.
there are more important things, better ways to waste time.
there's no one fighting with me to stay with them and no one celebrating the win in the end.
it's unimportant where i am, if i'm well or not, if i'm busy or not, if i'm happy or not,
if i'm anything at all.
that's the real, gut-wrenching kind of loneliness. the one where nothing even matters.
i don't know how the trees are able to bear that.
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