i never see a neuron fighting another neuron.
a tree does not declare war on the tree beside it.
they simply grow,
each unique in its reach and rhythm.

so why the fight?
why the anger?
why the bruises?

self-control is not a moral victory;
it is the practical art of moving your head
away from a swinging fist.
then moving your limbs,
then your whole body
out of the path of the storm.

why the struggle
when the world is vast
and the maps are blank?
if all you want is to be here,
to be nowhere else but here,

and you finally see,
there is no real stop sign.
only open road.
only soft earth.
only the quiet, endless invitation
to simply
grow.