I look out at the wind

moving on two trees.

Separated.

Fifty yards and

a road between.

They are dancing

the same

assailable dance.

Force acting

upon them.

Movement unstoppable.

And this same wind

is moving

on Us.

We, gathered

like tall grasses

in a field

of awe.

Undulating.

Existing.

In motion.

Forces acting

upon us.

Inwards and outwards.

We, bending.

We, breaking.

We, matter.

Feeling it

good

or bad.

The Sensitive Ones

running for cover

but finding only

temporary shelters.

And the Hard Ones

bracing

swallowing down

biting hard.

No need to apologize

for your

Self.

No explanation necessary.

You’ve been

forced.

Time and again.

You felt what you felt

or you numbed out

what you couldn’t bear

to feel.

Either way

we walk a tightrope

between fragility

and triumph.

Answerless questions

bellowing

and moaning

out from us

as we live

deep

in the belly

of the best.

We, bracing

We, softening.

We, matter.

Constantly affected.

Force acting

upon us.

Movement

unstoppable.

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