Creeping Myrtle

January 13th, 2019

We are thrown into a story we know nothing of:
In infancy we internalize our fear that this will be forever
& by the time we toddle we teethe on terror to grow accustomed to its taste
In kindergarten we clash with kin and ferment in folly,
Furthering our futures as we believe them fated to be.
By adolescence we grow antagonistic against the Ancient and hope to avoid Adulthood when we grow up — an infant again.
I know no further.
I don’t want happiness; I can’t want grief. I will not return to the womb.
Will I disappear entirely to become anything but what I resigned myself to be?
I will water the creeping myrtle with my weeping and become the Earth once more.

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