It doesn’t matter to me what you believe
as long as you don’t try to make me believe it
because I am from my own hollow in the world
already formed like the giant maple of my youth,
my limbs outstretched and searching for my own answers
and your stinging, howling wind
will only make my leaves fall too soon,
leaving me barren,
unable to create the saplings of my convictions
that could grow thick and strong
in the rays of light between my branches.