The problem was that I was a fungus amongst generational giants.
I was intended to work underground and not in the sunlight.
My spirit yearns to turn tragedy into mycelium and rot into rebirth,
but disconnected from the fungal network I felt only like a tree being siphoned for sap,
violated and purging with thick, dripping sweetness against my will.
Yet when I understood that I was not put here to be a tree,
to withstand and weather the years with a sturdy bark and unmovable roots,
I embraced my vibrant pulse instead, listening to the asks
and consenting to their sustainability, moving to and away from the calls for help.
I was never meant to do fungal work while trying to create oxygen for others standing still.
I am umami and psychedelic ego death and the umbrella for fairies.
I may not be pretty or last for too long in one place,
but I am a good mushroom and the world needs me to be who I am.