I went from belonging,
in your arms to
the cold uninteresting floor.
when I rightfully, and
justly belonged in a tree.
a mortified, petrified oak tree.
just like the ones that used to
wander into my bedroom as a child and
tell me nasty sailors tales.
those are the ones I like best.
the twisted, whittle worded tongues
spun fantastic tales! and in return
I fed my childhood to them.