The blossoms lay strewn like
Splashes of blood
in the pillars of snow
And her tears watered their veins
Whispering to them, to grow, to grow
Push their arms out, to seek the sun,
Break the frost, split the ground
And the flowers turned to fruit, turned to seed, to seek
The sky, while her grief withered slow
Death bloomed, and life bloomed around
And people chanced, to this hidden orchard
Trees laden heavy with berries unknown
The sweetest, melancholic sorrow dwelled there
– Who had this garden, sown?
Quiet, she slumbered miles below them
In her sleep of final peace
Ever so often though, someone would find
A tear, in the black cherries
Sometimes, I want to be selfish.
I want to be selfish. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone, or answerable to anyone. I don’t want to make allowances for how the other person’s feeling. I want to say what I think, no matter how hard the truth may hit them. I don’t want to think about them. I want to think about me.
At least in a corner of my mind, I want to be selfish. I want to be okay with wanting things all to myself, wanting people all to myself. It’s so ingrained in us that selfishness is bad that I let self sacrifice become a wraith wrapped around my shoulders- I don’t want to drown in selflessness.
Maybe that means not being sweet constantly, but nothing wrong with being a bit tart occasionally. If life tastes good in the end, you’re doing it right.
Y’all make sure you’re doing right by yourself, now. Nothing wrong with looking away from the world and looking after yourself once in a while. I’m going to try to take my own advice too.