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Poisoning the NestIt's time to be selective in the things we really need.
Something isn't right, and we're clearly not at peace.
Not at peace with nature -- not even with ourselves.
Too big for the Nest, too proud to accept much else.
No no, not away from me, but with me. Come with me, and we'll go.
We'll see. We'll hear. We'll touch, we'll smell, we'll taste.
We'll smear. Paint on ourselves and yell. At a passing car, at the sky, at the moon. At a star. At a thousand stars.
We'll shun sleep and watch the world wake up. We'll run through the street and wake the parts of the world that didn't.
We'll climb a tree. We'll wait and see. The people pass below us, and we'll drop pine needles on their heads.
We'll drive fast. We'll drive slow. We won't drive. Let's walk.
We won't regret, though.
Because we're going.
We're going. We're going.
We're moving a mile a minute. We're moving a minute a mile. We're not moving. We're moving again.
Did you hear that? Did you SEE that? Look at this. Look at me. Where are we? Does it matter?
Time to go. Time to see the world.
Ten-thousand-million-billion-trillion times a second, a minute, an hour, a day. A way. They're e
DinosaurAn explosion through your front door.
A vicious dinosaur appears.
He wants to eat your head,
But you left all your guns
In your other pair of pants
By your bed, and you're nowhere near
Your bed, you're here, about to dance
With this mean-looking dinosaur.
But then he tells you he was kidding
And that he doesn't even like heads.
They have an awkward texture.
He just wanted to make a friend,
But he has no social skills,
And that is the only way he knows how to say hi.
He apologizes for being vicious and
You go out for ice cream with your new friend,
Which is actually nice because people move out of your way
On the street because your friend is a dinosaur.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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