I was a tree sapling
seeking nourishment.


But I was cut off
from developing.


My roots were rotten
and they stunted my growth.


They chiseled away at me
until my identity was gone.


I was sanded down until
a thin layer of rage remained.


I became a stump,
prone to immature moods.


Was it surprising that
I would snap like a twig?


So fragile, worn down
through the years.


My DNA tinged with rancor,
prone to temper tantrums.


One day this tree will
catch fire and be consumed.

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