Stinging Nettle & Poison Oak

I was not aware

Poison Oak

Was so severe.

I remember

Being a child

In the lush

Green

Fields

Of Wales.

And crying over Stinging Nettle.

It's barbed leaves

Prickling my

Untouched skin.

But much like

A scraped knee,

With time comes

The ability to

Frown a little

And walk on.

Naively,

I assumed

Poison Oak

Would be another

Stinging Nettle in a life

Of scraped knees.

Until the moss carpeted,

Secret keeping,

Coastal forests

Taught me

To

Heed their

Poison warnings,

From scar tissue,

All too

Familiar,

To

Purple red

Skin,

All too

Familiar.

I could not

Blame to

Poison Oak

For it was I

Who walked into it,

And it was

Right there

In front of me.

The familiarity

Of Stinging Nettles

And

Scraped knees

Left me

Wide eyed and innocent

When the

Poison

Grew over me.

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Thankfully, I did not get poison oak in the making of this poem. However, multiple people I know did. At least it inspired me, right?