Trying to make sense
Of a life in upheaval
Is like trying to
Hear a conversation between ants
You can see them, sure
See that they’re conversating
Their little antennae move
And they hustle forward with purpose
But what they said?
It’s non-sensical.
Problems are like this too
They appear, but don’t make sense
And decisions must be rushed toward
with all the purpose
of an ant on a mission
but none of the understanding.
Choices expand stress
The wait; the anticipation
The decision though
Pierces through the fear
Popping it like a balloon
The choice is made
And life can lift
You’ve heard of broken
That ugly word describing pain
“A broken woman”
As though she’s shattered
Laying in pieces on the ground
Unmoving. Static.
That’s not what it is
Grief, pain; they’re ever changing
Frenetic, dizzying
No. We’re not broken
Or shattered, or static
We’re simply unmoored
A boat without a dock
A leap without a landing
But not aimless. No.
We know the destination.
We just haven’t spotted it yet.
Hipstory 