Running From My Cells

I sit at the kitchen table
trying to puzzle through cellular respiration
It seems impossible
Why does it matter to me what my cells do to keep me alive?
I care what I am going to be, not what I am
And what everyone around me is going to be
So I put on my running shoes
And I run
I run from my cells, and from what I have been
There is nothing on the road I have seen before
Nothing is repeated
Nothing but my legs and my shoes and the old road
Crumbling behind me
And then I realize I can't live a life full of future
Without my past, and without my cells
So I turn back on to the old road
And run back past what I have already known
Back to the kitchen table
Because although I may not like it
To have any sort of future I must understand my past
And my cells

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