Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Diary Of An Oak Tree

Hey there again Diary. It’s me. Oak Tree.

Kind of weird I’m writing in you, considering you are comprised of my parts.

The kids were hanging on my arms again. Even hung a fucking tire off of one of my arms. Swung on the thing for hours. It seemed so damn dull, but they apparently had a blast with it. At the very end, one of them fell off and started crying. That did make me laugh a little. I know it sounds sadistic, but if you had to hold your arms out for hours upon hours while chocolate-stained fingertipped, snot-nosed kids swung around on them like crazed monkeys ripping your skin off you’d love to see one of them get hurt too. People think it’s not a big deal when you rip bark off a tree but it is! That’s my fucking skin! I’m going to need a bark graft now.

And I’m rooted into the ground so I can’t move. Another reason I’m super jealous of my brother Christmas. The luckiest Tree of them all. He’s mobile, he gets carried into nice, warm houses. He gets dressed up all pretty, with lots of vibrant colors. No one attacks him and rips pieces of him off. He is loved! He is cherished! He’s the centerpiece of a fucking holiday! And I’m something you hang a grubby tire off of. A tire that’s no longer suitable to be used for it’s one purpose. So a new purpose has been created for it. Trash swing.


And the dog always pisses on my feet.

Lucky Christmas Tree. An entire month indoors. Sometimes more. And it’s freezing outside during that month, and he sits right next to the heater. All warm and cozy. And he’s always by the window, I can’t help but stare at him, envious as shit! I never know where he goes after the holiday is over. It’s probably to some other even more amazing holiday celebration. Pine always tells me, “The leaves are always greener. How do you know he isn’t carried off to the dump and left to die?” Yeah right. Like you would love something that much for that long, and then just leave it to die.

The dog’s pissing on my feet again.

A Jewish family moved in. I no longer see my brother get brought in and dressed up all fancy. In fact, I no longer see him at all. There is no longer a dog here. My feet stay piss-free. I miss my brother but I kind of like this new life. And the kids are a lot more careful. Actually, they never touch me. Never swing on my arms. They sit in my shade and read books. And speak some language where it sounds like they’re hocking up hairballs the whole time. It’s different. They’re hats are smaller but I swear their brains are bigger. They know not to fuck with an Oak Tree. Because if you do....well I guess I’ll just take it. But still I like them a lot better.

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