day 4; overthinking

Life is so simple.

We like to complicate—
we fickle, conniving humans.
We crave the attention,
the pity (though we demure).
Pure Drama was borne
from such selfishness.

Truth is, we are so
very
small
and our lives are largely meaningless.

Not to our lover,
scrunched so far away in bed
so as not to brush even a digit
against our raw and bleeding body,
even as they are dying to hold us.
Not to our child,
whose need for us knows no end,
even when we are prepared to strangle
their precious little neck
for a moment of peace.
Not to our parents,
left to gather dust on the mantelpiece
and mentioned only at dinner parties
and birthdays in guilt of forgetfulness
(and fear we’ll end up the same).

It is in fear we strive—
lest we be forgotten;
for the greatest embarrassment is
to be a Nobody.
In strife, we scrabble
to push passed doubt,
when life stops for a moment and we think,

Maybe I'm overthinking this.