We are Like a Tree

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I dance among the days of past in fragments of me that came in order to survive. Trauma was amiss. Young mind blown apart to cope. 
They call it Dissociative Identity Disorder. 
They don't call it Multiple Personality Disorder anymore. 
We are like a tree. 
Branched off from one trunk. 
Some tist and twine to support.
Some are small but mighty.
Some draw more energy than others.
Some are well cloaked in leaves.
Some are more bare with heart open.
Some gnarly but growing stronger.
Each day working for the good of the whole.
One trunk to keep alive so all can be.
One tree of branched love.

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