We breathe by virtue of accident,
at chance’s mercy.
Resting fate’s hand in yours,
curl up in your cocoon
as comfortably as you can.
The author and site owner can be reached at leeundercedartrees@gmail.com.
We breathe by virtue of accident,
at chance’s mercy.
Resting fate’s hand in yours,
curl up in your cocoon
as comfortably as you can.
Morning came again:
confusing mix of apathy
and disappointment
.
3:45 AM
The spring evening sun is still shining
I wish it got dark early year-round
I’m waiting for early sleep
Finally forming a new atheist prayer:
…
Angry at deceit
Self deceit
I know better
Why not do better
Because I wish it were otherwise
I was fooling myself this whole time
I’m not supposed to be here
I was not made properly
Defects need to go defects need to go defects need to go
Look at all the space and time you’re stealing!
It would be so much better for everyone if you were gone.
Think of the group for once instead of just yourself.
You’ll never feel this way again once you’re gone, but only once you’re gone!
Just do it. Just go!
.
May 9, 2025
Supposedly cedars will burn quite savagely.
Violently.
I’ve never seen it
But I have no reason to believe this false.
…
How quickly would an entire forest disappear
With trees so eager to burn and share?
…
These old woods have gotten quiet
Darkened by clouds that won’t crack
Silenced by a muffling blanket
Invisible but felt
Heavy and oppressive
Rainfall is long overdue
Drought is spreading beneath the canopy
Branches bend in the increasing wind
Into little smiles beckoning outsiders
It still looks green from a distance
…
Steadily creeping
Future unpredictable
Feels more familiar
I don’t blame anyone but me.
It was all on me. Always.
I couldn’t adapt.
I couldn’t fit this odd shape
into any gaps I found.
…
Sometimes
it feels like
the greatest act of rebellion
I have ever done
when the thoughts
begin to stagger
when the sentences
are stuttering
when the will
is faltering
is
to choose
nothing
My high school French teacher
told us in class one day that it’s important
to be “comfortable in our skin”.
My skin is simply a boundary.
It draws a perimeter for the others,
dividing the delicate from the wilds.
It contains the sensitive ones, guards my vitality,
and houses a precarious family of slight dysfunction.