The Difference Between Mother Nature and Me

I got too comfy and let my guard down.

What happens when a zebra lets its guard down?

Chomp.

I am not separate from Mother Earth. Even though I try my hardest: walking on concrete, only touching plastic, metal and glass. I am unnatural, and I live in an unnatural world.

Fuck Mother Nature. She's a pain in my ass. She's the ants in my kitchen. She's my lawn that needs mowing. She's the rain on my windshield when I'm driving to work. She's always in my way, slowing me down.

And I wonder why I'm in prison.

Mother Nature lets me do whatever I want. She's the best kind of teacher, letting me figure out shit for myself. If it gets too much and I get tired and crabby, she holds me and sings me to sleep.

Mother Nature didn't go away because I concreted her over. She is the air I breathe, the bacteria on my hands, the flora and fauna prancing around in my gut. The distance between me and Mother Nature is a half a fraction of a millisecond of a micron, not even.

Because I am Mother Nature and Mother Nature is me.