Growing is peeling the bark off of the tree in your backyard. 
Tugging at any loose knot— but never enough to consider begging.
There’s certainty in it breaking. 

Scraping at your arms until you leave marks. 
You finally feel calm while you are ever so angrily dismissed. 
A barrier of skin breaks when you scratch, no sap falls through.
I am the offspring of a bitter man. 

A blossom finds its way to the palm of your hand,
Symbolizing an opportunity to grow away from the childish implications you know. 
It loses moisture before your eyes. 
Very few can truly make it without their bound ancestry;
Love is withstanding but I fall to the floor when looking it in the eye. 

When tears catch a tree, it attracts the angry voice of a father. 
This fire brings the drowned shreds of my life to a boil until it is confined to paper. 
I am writing again!
I am writing but it is after a summers swim,
After a long hug that reminds me of the sting of youth,
And I am in love. 
I am in love!