Timber

The curls that you simmer flat 
Or tuck ashamedly under your hat 
And the clothes you refuse to wear
Even though they are as lovely as your hair 
Are a few of the pieces you let chip off 
"I won't miss it" is what you scoff 
Because you must fit into the fleeting law
But darling, society is just one saw
That wants to chisel away who you are
As if you never once had the light of your own star
And there are plenty of blades to come
So pull up your boot straps and don't run 
So that when they tell you you are made of wood
Tell yourself this can be withstood 
So that when the word Timber is what they call 
It doesn't mean you're the one who falls. 
-anna sluder

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