Humble

I'll show you meek. My life might hang like a mote of dust in a sunbeam, or the current of swirls that curl down the drain, sitting in the rinse like sand in the tide. My grasp on reality has been fragile at best, these days I've dreamt of disappearing, washing down that drain, following those rays into the horizon. I dare chase the sun. The cold and the dark make me suffocate inside. If I were a wolf and had fur I could walk the paths I long to follow, but my coat would kill me in the end, it's forbidden to be a wolf in civilization. I would rather be a wolf than a woman. Both are treacherous to society but at least I wouldn't carry the seed of my enemy inside me. At least I could die with snow beneath me and heat chasing my breath.