Resolute

They’re tugging at the very fabric of me.
Stretching and distorting.
Pulling, tearing, pushing.
But I like it.

What it does to me.
Warping my wings so when
I try to fly up, I fly down instead.
But I like it.

Because it leads me to wonder.
Because it leads me to why.

They say it starts there, but we all
know better … that’s only a small
part. A fraction of what it really
is.

My brain itches and I try to scratch it
with big questions from lecture halls,
but it never quite resolves.
And I like it.

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