You’ve perfected the precise formula needed to fool them. And you’re serving it to them on a silver platter. You’re funny, smart, interesting. Impressive yet humble. Elusive yet inviting. Quiet yet talkative. You’re anything they need you to be right now. Are you yourself? Maybe. You’re not really sure.
It doesn’t matter anyways because soon enough they’ll figure it out. You’ll find yourself searching for something to add to the conversation, but the moment passes. You lose their attention for a few seconds. It’s recoverable, but your confidence is shaken. You make sure to find something to say the next time, but when it arrives, it feels forced.
It didn’t come out right. They are put off by your desperation. They pass knowing glances. Quiet down.
Let some time pass so maybe they’ll forget. But what now?
You can’t get out of your own head long enough to entertain them. You’ll be replaced by someone hastily. You scramble for more talent. An ounce of shock factor. To prove to them that you are worth keeping around. However, your insecurity has spilled into the room. Everyone looks, but no one cleans it up.
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Do animals kill themselves?
Do animals kill them selves? I ask myself today, after hearing the news of your passing away. I sit by the river, and watch tadpoles swim, when this question is posed: “what’s so different about them?” How simple their life, to just be and exist. No questions or worries, no imposed purpose. How do we know the extent of life’s reach? What toll was given to the starfish dried up on the beach? Does a bird fly into a window caused by a lack of understanding, or because just like us, life became too demanding? Does a worm reject its needs and decide to quit trying- or did the sun beat too hot, and the ground began drying? What’s so different about humans that we see in such color, but life muddles the painting, and it begins to feel cluttered. How unfair that we were burdened with the privilege of self-awareness. What joy and sorrow that weighted gift bears us. Do animals kill themselves, I ask myself once more. Are we so different from them? I’m not really sure.
By Cassie Gault11 days ago in Poets
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