The Tree I am Meant to Be

You don't really know what's supposed to grow. You can't really say what's supposed to stay. 

Does it really matter what I do? Does it really matter? 

You have your opinions about what's supposed to be. About what's supposed to happen. About the shape I'm supposed to have. About the order in which it should occur, about the value I have. 

I don't think you know best. I've been holding this secret for longer than you. I've been remembering our quest. I've been secretly holding the map. I think I know better, than you with all your ideas. And all the things you fear. And your strict and narrow straits. And so many pathways to avoid. I don't think you know best. 

I'm so tired of your inquiring mind. It's just controlling in disguise. You have your agenda and your preferences. You have your quotas to fulfil.

But I've been the map holder, and I remember what we're really after. And I traveled the seas many times in many lifetimes, and no I won't tell you about it. Because I'm none of your business. Not when you look at me like that. Not when you demand to extract. I keep my secrets to myself. 

You have your ideas of what should be. You have ideas of what should be, and little feeling for what is. You're overbearing, is what you are. And I'm tired of feeling your weight down on me. 

Does it really matter what I do? Does it really matter what I am? Could I really go against my essential nature? Or do we all helplessly live out who we are?

I can only grow into the tree that I was born to be. I can only grow into the tree that I am supposed to be. I can only grow or not grow.