dream, but not too big

They always told me to dream big,

stretch my branches to reach the sky

and take a star out of heaven.

Then my branches would grow too high;

they would come and cut them down

with their undermining,

and their backhanded compliments

-'we would never expect that from people like you'-

turning the ground below

into a graveyard of hopes and dreams.

But I turned their words into fertilizer

so I could keep on growing,

not just taller,

but stronger;

stronger than their chainsaws

that keep growling for attention,

and their hatchets

that barely leave a dent

as they still try to strike my dreams down.