The Tree That Grows

They think all things that feel inexplicably good will be the thing that provides them predictable permanent peace 

they escape those same things once they prove not to

I was one of those things

my peace is not predictable or permanent 

so they told me that was because i don't believe in peace 

they told me I was never happy 

and that most people usually are 

they blamed me for the peace and happiness they didn't have

as if it was mine to make or break 

the happiest people I know 

with the most peace in their hearts 

wear their sadness on their sleeves

their anger on their tongues 

their discomfort in their casual expressions  

not because they are less happy than most 

not because peace is out of their reach 

but because they won't settle for a happiness that is false 

that is surface and easily stolen

so fragile it can be held captive by a challenge 

they won't settle for numbness and name it peace 

my peace is pungent 

my happiness is deep 

it has roots 

it has branches 

it can grow in the sun or in the dark 

it is not restricted to a location 

or a plan 

it walks along side me wherever I go

even when it's buried in the shadows

I always know it's there

it is not a forced smile suspended in a picture frame 

it is not a future dream

or a nostalgic memory 

it is not the absence of pain 

it's the tree that grows 

after the last tree was chopped 

and the tree that grows after that 

it is the branches that break in the storm 

and the ones that come back 

this time with flowers 

and a perfect place for a nest of birds

it is untethered and it is sturdy at once 

it bleeds 

because it is alive 

it bruises 

because it is alive 

it has moments of inhale and moments of exhale because it is alive 

it is scary and in some seasons scarce 

because it is alive 

it is alive