The Real Reason

I hate umbrellas is because they're a constant reminder
of how precious we all really are.
Fragile almost.
Feeble against the wind when it comes to controlling things like a sad little innovation us children came up with, in order to keep a little rain from our hair.
The world seems like a little kid whose hand is in constant need of another to hold.
I saw a man with cerebral palsy today and I cried.
I want to be the purpose I wish I had.
I want to remember what it felt like to think that I had insight that no others could fathom.

But arrogance is a bullet to the head of a true intellect.
And suddenly, it's a mind game within a mind to attempt puzzling together pieces
whose futility is etched within the torn cardboard of impossibility.

In the eyes of the world, I am nothing.

But I'm not alive to compete for wisdom.
I'm alive to to be glad I'm alive.
I don't believe in God. Or Fate. Or Karma.
I don't protest to say that none of those things exist.
I'm not capable of certainty when it comes to things like God being a myth or a being.
Everything I use to decipher those things could all be faulty for detecting lies in any world other than my own.
When I hear the whispers of another
who's lips are blistered with bitter spit and saliva
I protest not to be better
or quicker to the punchline;
but only different.