I am not just some runny material, nor
Some substance that will break down over time.
I was born a daughter.
A product of him and her. And,
Through this birth, the
Absence of love that never came to flower,
Layed like a dead branch in a yard.
I grew and became like the Oleander.
This sapwood that runs through my veins,
These roots, these cambium spread far,
Like the legs of a birthing mother,
Remind me I’m not settling,
But, waiting for my most perfect pith.