Self-Expression

The selves we show the world are like the bare branches of the trees in the dead of winter. We are afraid to show our whole selves. To bare the colorful leaves of our personalities and souls to the world is our fear. To be fully who we are.

We were not always like this; we grew and began to show the leaves that were our beautiful pieces - we shared our souls. More and more we became colorful and unique. Growing from the tiny seed that we once were, into a thing with the potential for magnificent beauty.

Slowly, ever slowly, little pieces of ourselves were ripped away, like the wind takes away the colorful leaves in autumn. Only the wind represents the cruel words from others. Why do they tear us?

Words said in cold hatred are especially brutal. They scar our souls like lightening scars the trees, in the violent and viscious thunderstorms that turn the skies black and make the wind howl in agony as it is forced through the eves of our homes.

Many scars mark the old trees within us. They are our emotional scars we have in accumulated over the years. Some of we old trees are dying, from not being allowed to be who they really are, fearing the storms of tomorrow because of the pain of yesterday's.

While suppressing the growth of the leaves that are our true selves, we begin to die. The trees of ourselves no longer able put out our leaves, for we are afraid. Afraid of the greater pain that may come, perhaps today or tomorrow...

The real trees are not afraid though. They keep growing, day in and day out, come rain or shine, despite the wailing winds, even if at times broken to pieces and limbs torn asunder. Still they grow. Somehow they grow. Such unweilding courage it must take...

But we are often afraid of the hurt it may bring to really live and be, fearing the vicious wind ripping our beautifully colored leaves from our great branches - and we accept slow death. We lose who we are, doubting our colors and gifts to give others. We die.

Yet as our example to follow, the real trees keep living, never turned away from life today by the storms of yesterday. Can we allow our beautiful branches to grow and our flowers to bloom against such painful odds? Only the next storm will know, as it comes again, like storms always do.