The darkness you told me lurked outside that car for so long:

it was never really there,

just a glare of those dark tinted windows.

But you created it inside me by telling me it was there.

You meant no harm but that didn’t stop you from causing destruction.

And as I sat jarring in that back seat,

I yelled over and over to tell you that you had a flat tire,

that you needed to get out and fix it.

But you who are so sure of yourself,

you who are so anxious to get where you are going,

yelled back that no, your car is fine.

It is this god-forsaken stretch of road we were unfortunate enough to come across that is so bumpy,

that makes the car rattle and shake so much.

I will not be a passenger in that car anymore.

I would rather walk alone and take the time,

learn to use these weakened, atrophied feet,

than spend one more minute watching everything interesting rush past in that broken-down, busted-up, rusted-out car.

As I trudge on I begin to see that all along you have been driving in a circle.

I move forward now,

and as I get farther and farther away from your circle,

your perception kicks in,

and you think you see me shrinking but the truth is I get stronger and better with every step.

It is you who stagnate in the same place you’ve been for years.

The never-ending travel of your car gives the impression of progress,

but circles never go anywhere except where they have already been.

Not so hard as I thought it would be.

Yes, it hurts to leave you behind,

knowing you are going nowhere,

but not nearly as bad as it hurt my poor ass to keep sitting in that rattling, bumpy car, on those unforgiving, rock-hard seats,

and to that end, I will not weep for losing you.

As you drive on, I hope you don’t crash,

but I can see now,

from outside this car,

that if you don’t get out and fix it soon the inevitable will happen.

Not so empty as you threatened they would be, these sidewalks.

Turns out there are plenty of people walking.

To think these people would have been a colorful blur to me

had I not gotten out of that car.

How many others did I miss?

How many saw me in that car as I see you now, and shook their heads?

Not so lonely as I thought it would be,

for they teach what I needed to learn:

that as love from others falls down love of self rises up.

Strength,

the kind your life tries to give you.

You can either accept the gift,

or run from it,

make it someone else’s job to stand up for you,

but no one can do it as good as you can.

You who in your false idea of companionship try to shape me,

you who cannot accept that, though I am different from all of you “happy” people, I am happy too,

you would fill me with yourself,

with all those things which make you strong,

but the truth is

you could fill my heart with rose petals and it would still cease to beat,

as those self-same petals turned into obstructions,

preventing any bad blood from leaving.

So I will fill me,

fill that void,

with myself,

with all those things this body knows it needs.

It will not be used.

I will not spend another minute

thinking it’s my fault,

blaming myself,

hating myself for the things you do to me,

did to me, no more,

feeling like there is something wrong with me,

I will not.

I have seen the truth.

Not so bad as I thought it would be.

If there are others of my kind

they are hidden

somewhere in this vast forest

of a thousand swaying trees.

The sun reaches down between the branches

forming pools of moving light.

I stare, entranced,

but they are nothing to which I can relate,

and nothing that I can duplicate.

My shadows seem strange.

Although they resemble the rest

there is something very different

that everyone seems to see.

I try to go to them,

to reach out for acceptance,

but I find I cannot move.

I look down

to find my roots in the ground.

I am trapped,

for I am a tree as well,

and I was not fortunate enough

to be planted near another.

The other trees have branches intertwined.

They form arches and pathways,

tunnels and labyrinths.

They create beauty together

and I cannot partake.

They grow in groves,

but I find myself in a clearing.

Alone.

None compete with me for sunlight.

I soak it all up for myself

and use it to grow tall,

but I cannot convince my branches

to grow towards the others.

I crave their touch,

but I cannot see how to reach it.

And how can I blame them

for growing so far away,

when I would not grow near me

if I had been born them,

and I would not be me

if I only had a choice.