When I was small, a bug beneath a boot, My uncle laughed; its crunch, a cruel sound. "Why mourn a spider, feared as something brute?" Yet tears fell, for a life so simply downed. My mother whispered softly, "God's own kin, Each creature, no matter how small it’s deemed."

Now grown, the galaxies, in jest, begin To mock my size, my dreams, my schemes that seemed So grand. They laugh—this uncle, vast and cold, These stars and planets, less than bugs in space. Yet sun, our watchful guard, both brave and bold, Shields us, a loser, with savior’s embrace.

It's pathetic, the weak mothers and suns, I love the uncles and galaxies, the rich, the strong. But when I start to feel myself worthless, I begin to think I might be wrong.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/bIQZ3YQBKk

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