Dirt to a tree

I have written poem of poem of life of life with no reprieve from either

These joints do not get any smaller until they do and these mushrooms keep getting wilder as I go through them with the trouble ones I see

School never lets me breathe

Around absurdity most of all

Vain comes second closely tied with a train of vanity drying up the walls of creativity

Dreams

Hope things

Am I not a man?

When puberty stifled boys and girls try to instill in knowledge in me

The bias from dirt to a tree

To think one only comes from thee