November 18, 2022 / 2 Minute Read

the tree

I remember when they first planted us. 

It was a nice neighborhood, lots of kids, and squirrels, and birds.

Before leaving, they put a metal ring around us.

The gardener said it was to help us grow correctly.

To make sure we were strong and upright.

At first I didn’t like..

I felt like I was in a cage.

Like I was on training wheels.

Like I was on crutches.

But eventually…

I began to like it.

It provided comfort. 

A cover for the windy days and stormy nights. 

Years passed and I continued to grow.

My roots grew deeper, and my trunk got thicker.

Eventually, the rest of the trees had their cage removed.

They didn’t need them anymore.

But not me.

I kept the cage on.

I stayed on my crutches.

One day, I woke up in pain.

I noticed my viewpoint was crooked.

I felt myself leaning.

I looked down in shock.

My trunk was twisted.

I was deformed…

Dying.

Reality hit me like a bolt of lightning.

I had grown too big for my cage.

And now…

It was suffocating me. 

Killing me slowly.

Squeezing the life out of my trunk, and causing me to shift to the left. 

I thought the cage would help.

I thought I would always need the crutches.

But now…

It was strangling me.

Keeping me in bondage. 

It took me days to remove the metal barrier.

But I finally got rid of it.

I looked at my trunk again.

Scarred from years of strangulation.

Marred from years of holding onto something I should have abandoned long ago.

I looked at my brothers.

They were tall and mighty.

Birds and Bees had taken up nests within their mighty branches.

Kids climbed on them with no fear.

But not me.

My branches were fragile.

My leaves were falling off.

My growth had been stunted.

Because I couldn’t get rid of the crutches.