apex

I am grieving.

I’m grieving everything I poured into empty containers.
Containers that were leaky or had no bottom.
Containers that couldn’t hold,
who took what I poured
and poured it into another.

I’m grieving the self who poured
without asking for anything in return,
she took with no remorse.

I’m grieving the self who sacrificed,
who rejoiced in the surrender of another.
I hoped that someone would see it:
the lamb who waits to be devoured:
the shadow of the apex goat.

An insincere “thank you” would have been nice.

They could see it though,
they knew what it was hoping for.
That someday they’ll all give something back.
That we’re all just goats and lambs pretending to be part of the apex pack.

I know now that it’s all wrong.
We knew it all along.
We felt the wrongness of the wrong,
acted the niceness that made it worse.

But we couldn’t
—wouldn’t
care enough to help each other stop.

We’ve been programmed to build and operate this way.
Pouring into each other without filling.
Taking what we’ve been given
and pouring it into the next empty container.

No one is innocent, not even the sacrificial lamb.
We’re all dancers around a fire made of artificial walls.
We’re puppets in a show orchestrated by shadows of those we cannot reach.
do you hear me, little lamb?

No wonder we’re all thirsty and hungry,
we’re never satisfied.