There is a certain underhandedness to all of this life.
Each one of us goes in with an ace up our sleeves,
detailed files
the skinny… on ourselves.
In quiet moments We find it easy to think and hard to be ashamed.
If a frustrated man sits alone in a room and kills himself does Baby wake up from a dream in which she was an ant?
We are crippled by the most inward of things, Fear at the forefront , Vanity close behind… Doubt bringing up the rear
Slow and steady… The Tortoise.
We need so much approval from the others while pretending not to care.
While long glances are shared, meaning more than books, movies or fashion trends.
Looking out the window there is a nature sitting about
above us
in spite of us
It's life attempting to remind us to stay alive
We will not control the ending and keep our dignity intact.
Trust.
A third eye and two thumbs should straighten us out.
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