the make-believe tree

the make-believe tree#

I stood by the boughs of the make-believe tree,

-‘til it asked what it was, that I longed to be.

I imagined a me, all shining and new.

A version of me, only I can make true.

Splenderous, NO, bright!,

And cloaked in light!

No, tall and majestic, as i’ve longed to be.

Just like the branches of the make-believe tree.

Or firm,

-like a stone ‘gainst the sea?

Or magnetic. No, chosen!

Like the me that I’ve dreamt to be…

A life I’d written for me.

Abundance on tap, like books said it would be?

If I believe, then my mantras are true.

The life I deserve, not the one I endure.

I asked “is this real?” of the make-believe tree.

”Will it be mine? Can’t you see i’ve believed?”

I shouted aloud to it’s papery leaves.

“Which you is it,” whispered leaves back to me,

-“Which you is it, that you’re asking to be?”

I heard the promise.

The universe knew.

Of versions i’d dreamt,

-only I can make true.

I’ll be the me I’ve always imagined for me,

-abundance and fame and the friendships I’ve seen.

I’ll belong, and be loved, and the best at my craft,

-admired, desired, and wanted at last.

The luck and abundance I’ve asked for, each day.

The fortunes foretold, now on their way.

“So that’s what I wish for, no more and no less,

Except perhaps also a dress to impress.

And a voice that might also buckle the knees,

-of anyone worthy to look upon me.”

“But that’s all i need. I don’t ask for much.

Not care, or comfort, or trivial stuff.”

“Is that what you want?”, came words on the breeze,

“It is!” I yelled back at my make-believe tree.

“Then so you shall be”, echoed paper and glue,

-wrapped newsprint and string, with wire woven through.

And then nothing.

Just wind,

through cardboard boughs,

-and paper twisted, in forgotten hours,

I stood near the boughs of my make-believe tree,

-and shouted again to ensure it had seen,

-“Is that it? Will I be as I’d designed as my path?”,

-“Will everything be as I planned and have asked?”

And there by the boughs of a tree that i’d made.

A project in line with a life i’d create.

I waited to see if I’d finally be.

But all that I found was a make-believe me.

— T.