breath-gasp and other small rebellions

ain't it something—the way we parse our lungs into polite portions, like

granma's teacups lined up all pristine & proper on Sunday?

such

tiny

sips

of

sky

the body knows better. knows how to gulp-swallow-devour the world when we let it. when we don't cage it in business-casual breaths & conference-room dreams & fluorescent-lit desires.

see: the newborn's first raw scream

the lover's ragged gasp

the runner's victorious heave

the swimmer's desperate surface-break

& here we are, making do with these careful little breaths. these timid

micro-doses of existence. like we're afraid the universe might notice us

taking more than our share.

but listen,

the stars didn't explode into being

just so we could

inhale

in

mea

sured

doses

remember: every cell in your body descends from creatures who knew how to BREATHE, really breathe, who pulled oxygen from ancient seas & figured out how to scale mountains & sprint across savannas & sing whale-songs through ocean depths.

you are their wild inheritance.

so go ahead:

breathe like you mean it.

breathe like you're stealing fire from gods.

breathe like you remember what your atoms were

before they learned to play human.

because this thing you're doing now?

this shallow-chest half-life ventilation?

it's not breathing.

it's not living.

it's just

rehearsing

for

the

stillness.