I started off as a tiny seed, with water and sunshine I grew and grew. I was a mere sappling when you broke me apart. Now I'm starting over for the 100th time. A seed once again, but this time there's no you. No storm, rain, sleet, wind or hail. Only clear skies and sunshine. I'll become a tree, a hundred year old tree. Full of wisdom and knowledge. Just you wait and see. As it turns out, I'm going to be just another tiny tree. More pathetic than Charlie Brown's Christmas Tree. I'm bent nearly in half, with one single ornament, one single beacon of hope clinging on. But one day that little piece of hope is going to fall off, shatter on the floor, and that will be the end of that. You've been given the chance to be the broom and dustpan that gathers up those tiny shards. But to no monumentous surprise, you've ignored that chance. You sit in the closet, and pretend not to notice the mess infront of your face. To put it quite bluntly, you're rather oblivious. I'm searching for something to hold me up, to make me look proud once more. Instead everywhere I turn, there you are. mocking me, making it so plainly seen that I am a mere failure, a tree stunted for good.