She Keeps Asking...

She Keeps Asking I woke up—first day. The universe said: sleep again. My body bruised, my brain carried the pain. I learned to walk, she whispered: learn to sit. Every loop hits harder, I keep asking—what is all this? I was a child. She asked me to be a boy. I was a boy. She asked me to be a man. I became a man. She asked me to go back. She keeps asking. I fell in love. She broke it, just to test. I left my body— an old soul wanting rest. Still, I smiled. Welcomed the soul inside. Responsibilities don’t vanish, sometimes they only hide. But she keeps asking. I asked for freedom. She pointed me to a cage. Now I walk the same circles, swallowed by pain, shaking with rage. I asked her: is this what you want? She asked me the same. And in the silence, in the looping, in the threads of tension tightening— She always… just says… nothing. Only asking. -Aice