“That’s deep,” they scoffed.
“We’re all deep.” I replied. “Our minds spiral inward, maybe forever,
don’t you get it? The depth is always there
it’s about how much of it you choose to explore.
How many doors are you willing to open?
How eager are you to face what you might find there?
You hear constantly how important it is to look up and look ahead,
but how many times have you looked down?
So many of us are just skimming along the surface,
eyes flitting to the next exciting thing happening around us,
thoughts wrapped up in what everyone else is thinking or doing,
and we’re content with this. We laugh at the suggestion of anything else
as if it’s taboo or something, to dive in, to be deep.”

I squashed spiders, before I met you.
I lifted my hand to strike one day but you stopped me.
You reached for a cup, and scooped it in.
You carried it outside into the grass and I looked at you in such frustration,
like I’d just seen the stupidest, most pointless thing.
“It didn’t have to die,” you said to me,
and I was quiet.
I remember thinking later,
how soft you have managed to stay.
All the horrors that have set up shop in your life,
selling you nothing but cheap shots and venom,
yet I see no bitterness in you.
You make me want to be better.
I just thought you should know that.