rabbit h.o.l.e

You speak in pauses

that make me doubt my outline—

am I HERE, or just NEARBY

while priorities pass me like weather?

Some days you offer honeyed minutes,

then leave the sting lodged somewhere private,

aching long after you’ve flown on.

It feels like falling down a rabbit hole

lined with ALMOSTs and MAYBEs,

where every echo asks

if I mattered before the fall.

Perhaps you move like bees do—

SWEET by instinct,

WOUNDING by accident,

never staying LONG enough to notice the hurt.

Or maybe you’re an ant,

faithful to a system you NEVER question,

circling a QUEEN whose wants

you’ve never paused to NAME.

Tell me;

is it ignorance, or devotion,

that keeps you from learning

the shape of someone else’s HEART?

And do ants ever WONDER

what they’re building,

or who gets buried beneath it?