While their purpose is definitely understood in life and the vastness around me, I just really cannot stand bugs. There's too much unpredictability. How can I trust that I know what this creature is going to do isn't an attempt to harm me? I don't know what lies under its thorax, underneath that hard exterior and behind those beady eyes. I don't know what lies beyond the ant hills that it stomps around. Is this insect a lone stranger or coming from a place called home? In most species of bugs it appears that the female is often larger than the male. Females may harm and eat the male after it has served its part.
Is that why you're crawling back here now?
YOU ARE READING
Processing
PoetryA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
