Doom Daughter

"I still don’t get it.

What’s the point of living

if we’re all just gonna die?”

she says in her sleepy morning voice.

She’s a doomer that one,

and I’m sure I’m to blame.

I pour my coffee and oat milk

and give a half-baked reply

about ‘finding purpose’

and ‘the journey’,

when what I really want to say is:

It’s about heading towards warmth in a borrowed body on borrowed time. It’s about dying a thousand metaphorical deaths and reincarnating yourself piece by fractured piece and shedding skin and turning yourself to rust and searching for the monsters under your bed while trying not to become them. It’s about touching every fault line It’s about swallowing every star It’s about finding hallowed spaces on the tops of mountains you never thought you’d have to climb and having the feeling that you are everything and nothing all at once. It’s knowing you are connected to all that is alive and beautiful and all that is decayed and turned to dust. That you are neither more important,

nor less significant than any of it. You are. You are. You are… It’s about the eternal soul and how this is just one portal to another door. It’s about allowing consciousness to flow in a realm where we are rarely ever awake. It’s about 7am musings that unabashedly question existence. It’s about seeking answers, even when it feels futile do so. And even when it hurts, my girl, still always reaching for the infinite pulse of life.

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