Not even gonna sigh

I don’t feel so separated from the fall
When I’m falling.

Falling into rage, a sort of humanly billowing of heat that fills
Where the heart should be.
Causes my head to lift up, oddly, as if on hinges
Then strike down with words, more venomous than defensive.

If this were a sport, I’d be losing.

If my life is short...if I die tomorrow
What is the sense of allowing rage to ebb?
...Only to emerge from reserve
Later, and
continue consuming any rationality that once kept me
In rhythm.

My walk is more like a crawl,
My fingers on a steep, angry edge.

The other day, I watched a line of ants crawl by, in perfect formation they swirled,
Not really going anywhere.
I could have
Crushed them with my foot,
Drowned them with a smallish glass of water,
Burnt them
With one orange flame.

They were all brown;
They all looked the same.

But, I didn’t.

I watched them swirl in senseless patterns.
I smiled at how little ground they covered.

If one of them had called out for me,
Asked me for help,
Pleaded with me in a language I created...
“I want to go further than just here..lift me..I’ll only ever walk in circles.”

I don’t feel so separated from the fall
When I’m falling.

Falling into apathy, a sort of ‘giving up’ that
Happens when our minds have had too much.
Maybe not now, when I have time to read all the opinions.

When I’m older, there will still be unsolved questions,
But there will also be children, who call me “Mommy”,
And worry about their own little worlds.

Like the ant world, mine confuses me.

I know I have guidance.
I know I have freedom.

Knowing the balance doesn’t excite me.

One day, I’ll know how it was and why.
But on that day
Of perfect change
I won’t even lend a sigh.