there is nothing

i wrote this poem about a tree in the woods behind my house - i've included a picture of it :) it's the first poem i've ever been proud of lol 

There is nothing

but the three of us and our tree.

My hands are raw from the rope

that holds the swing from the thickest branch,

my friend gently pushing me every now and then

as we laugh about nothing

and everything

at the same time.

My other friend uses

the pocket knife he got for his birthday

to carve our names into the thick bark,

claiming this place 

for the rest of our lives.

T and A and M

against the world.

There is nothing

but the two of us and our tree.

The swing is

dead,

melted into a bubbled up

puddle of plastic on the mulchy ground.

He is inside the tree,

where one trunk becomes two.

He keeps trying to talk to me,

but he knows I’m not going to respond.

I am trying to scrub her initial off with

the pocket knife he got for his birthday.

The tree creaks as if it is protesting

the loss of someone who

cared so little about it.

There is nothing

but me and the tree.

I have not seen him in a few years,

but I know that he’s okay.

I try to reach out,

but I am just not as important to others

as they are to me.

I sit on the largest root and stare

at the sent message,

at the flashing cursor,

at the ACTIVE NOW at the top of the screen.

He reads the message.

He does not respond.

I turn to the carved initials,

the deep gouges from when I destroyed her

completely

And I use my fingers to

rip at the bark.

I do not have

the pocket knife he got for his birthday

and so I tear at the thick skin of the tree

until splinters embed under my nails

and there is blood running down my hands

and I am finally satisfied that I have

erased all of us from existence.

There is nothing

but the tree.