She Couldn’t Let Him Be
She stood in front of a tree; it was grandeur,
A rainbow eucalyptus.
His bark was radiant in color.
His branches stretched toward the sky,
Dreaming beyond the forest bed.
“I love you,” she said.
She traced her fingers along the ridges of the rainbow bark. Looking up,
Admiring the layers of leaves glistening below the clouds. Golden and green,
There was so much potential.
“I love you, but,”
Rooted,
The tree remained.
His hues shone at dawn,
And they glowed in the dusk.
One morning,
She brought her toolkit with her.
Pruning shears, sand paper, a saw.
Glancing at the branches,
Her eyes followed every imperfect twist and turn. “I love you, but,”
Carefully, she pruned the leaves,
Plucking the layers of every branch.
The tree was still.
Leafless,
His branches were bare.
She smiled,
Her hands were covered in twiglets
And her mind was full of fruitful desire.
She took the saw and seared the collection of colorful bark.
Chopped the wood into adjacent pieces,
Sanded and screwed,
Pressing the pieces together.
Reshaping the remains.
Wood stacked on wood.
It’s different,
But still the same.
“I love you, almost,”
The next morning,
She opened her eyes toward the window.
A colorful wooden desk stood just below the sill. Upon it sat trinkets, books, and a basket.
He, a beautiful tree,
Diluted by the selfish desire of she.
His expansive nature,
Reduced to the smallness of one room.
He was repurposed for her needs.
He’d held what she couldn’t.
“I love you, now,” she mumbled,
Staring out at the hole where his roots once belonged.
I Have A Poem In Me
I have a poem in me.
I can feel it at the tips of my fingers, Right below the ridges of my nails.
t’s right there, truly,
Covered in the pink polish
And shimmer of the nail paint.
I have a poem in me.
Surely, I do.
It's just hiding away,
I guess it doesn’t want to be put on display.
It’s feeling rather sad today,
It’d rather sway with the whims of time. But - it’ll come eventually,
I promise.
I have a poem in me.
It’s just a little timid.
It doesn’t enjoy loud noises,
Clusters or crowds.
It’d prefer to stay tucked behind my ear, Within the highlights of my hair. But it’s there,
I swear.
I have a poem in me.
It's tender and sweet,
Diligent and warm.
It’s about my favorite things.
I have a poem in me.
It's just too afraid to come out.
It's trying to predict the future,
But it can’t go beyond the clicks of the keys.
Oh,
I have a poem in me.
It’s right here,
right here,
actually
About the Author: Jayme Whitcomb is an author from Schuylkill County, PA. She is a free-spirited soul with enticing enthusiam to express her thoughts through the channel of words. She is currently attending Lehigh Carbon Community College in pursuit of a degree in Communications. Thereafter, she hopes to have a career in writing, editing, and creating her own pieces. In her free time, you'll find her reading, crocheting, and taking care of her many fish aquariums!
