I'm jealous of Scotland.

This poem isn't really published yet. It was written by Roah Biesinger himself, and it makes me so jealous, and it inspire me to write my poetry the way I write now:

SCOTLAND:
My heart is a pine tree.
When it goes to seed
I scoop all the pinecones up into my oak tree arms and put them in a bag
slung over my shoulder.
Everywhere we meet,
I take one out
and plant it.

In a few years there will be a pinetree in every hallway, and on every staircase of lone peak.
A new pinetree will be growing strong in pioneer park.
There will be a pinetree at City Creek
and there will be a pinetree at Randy’s Records.
there will be a pine tree at every stop light of the alpine highway.
There will be a pinetree in front of deercreek elementary.
There will be a pinetree in wallmart
right infront of checkstand 13
There will be a pinetree growing out of every poem I’ve ever wrote.

One day, as you lay in my bed, I’ll cut your chest open like a letter
plant a pinecone under that eifel tower heart,
and leave.

I’ll leave you,
and that tree will grow a decade every day that I’m gone.
It will swallow all 1,665 steps of your heart.
And when it comes time, it will drop it’s children all around,
and they’ll grow taller and taller,
chasing their father,
​​​their grandfather,
​​​​​​their great grandfather.
On and on,
till they declare your chest a national forest.
Then, I’ll return.
I’ll kneel over top of you,
and I’ll carve a poem into your chest:

​Oh Jerusalem
I turned back and was not turned to stone.
​Oh Jerusalem
Not even God could destroy you.
​Let me hold you in these oak trees
The scars from the axes will heal.

Then I’ll cut your wrists
and place a pillow over your face.
Your hands dancing
smearing blood over my neck and face.
Then I’ll drag your body to Box Elders Peak, pull your matted hair so your face is to the sky.
Fistfuls of blonde in hair
Face to God
Standing on weakened feet.
I’ll call for God
and when he comes, I will not bow
or kneel,
or humble myself before him.

And, as loud as I can scream,
God will only hear a whisper,

I dragged the blonde haired beauty
I dragged her beauty
with every question of love man has ever asked bolted to her ankles.
Here is my sacrifice,
the blonde haired beauty with a heart of Paris, a national forest in her chest, and a tounge that can only sing.
Feet that only dance to the saddest chellos.
and when she walks, even flash Gordon falls to his knees.

Here is my sacrifice; the blonde haired beauty
The beauty that grew as a disease on my eyes
and across my brain,
controlling my hands
and the movements of my head,
controlling my thoughts
telling me where to walk
what to eat
what to write
what to sing
when to fish
when to try to
kill myself
when to take my head out of the noose
when to sleep
where to go when I sleep

So here is your blonde haired beauty,
Now take me.
Take me to California
where the brunette walks with skirts dragging along the ground
and the slightest accent in her voice is rarely heard
because she rarely speaks
because the swarms of pigeons
are not strong enough,
and can not fly fast enough
to carry every message from her brain, out of her mouth.

Let me fall into her bed,
where the silence sits
holding every message
the pigeons could not carry.

This poem makes me so jealous because its so genius. I love the beginning, how it describes his heart being a pine tree, and that he plants seeds everywhere they met. And how it ties in with the line "until they declare your chest a national forest." I love that line because it is so perfect and worded amazingly, and I can relate to it so well. This poem is a true work of art, and I'm so jealous of the way roah writes his poetry. I strive to be as hipster as him one day *gets clubbed to death for even thinking that*