It’s Poems Like This One That Stop Me From Behaving Like an Ant

Like the way I feel I’ve never dug deep enough to get to the bottom of me, I feel like I can never be loved enough to put an end to always wanting it so badly.

I know this is due to the traumas inflicted upon be by my mother, and also, why I tunnel into misperceptions and reattach them so relentlessly.

I can never quite feel like myself because my social/emotional needs were not met by my first and only true queen,

and, being a social creature who understands himself better through the perceptions and behaviors of others, this means I would always find myself endlessly burdened by wanting to more clearly define and realize what it means to carry that leaf.

I just want to feel good again, I tell myself whenever I’m in one of those mind tunnels doing work that shouldn’t be mine to do. As long as I want that, that feel good feeling will find me. I won’t have to do anything. I won’t have to write poems so breathlessly, I mutter back to the dark.

And that sounds good and faithful and crazy enough to be possible, it does. And it’s almost believable. And I think it would be if it weren’t for the fact that

I like to think it’s poems like this one that can stop me from behaving like an ant, that somehow seem to believe that I can hold myself for a while the way a loving mother holds her shivering child by the sweet fire of her chest and says here.