The tree inside my brain
had lost its way—
its roots no longer growing,
and it could no longer flourish.
Too many branches,
with too many leaves,
and too many leaves,
with too many chances.
Each path would sprout
in a different way,
and each branch
had too much to say.
Too many leaves
were left in my brain.
They would not let go,
yet more leaves would grow,
and the tree became top-heavy—
though not a single leaf would fall.
The tree became a monstrosity,
a creation of my own manic anxiety.
It was then that I realized
it was my responsibility
to tend the garden inside my mind,
and cut away some of the branches—
the ones that were getting in the way.