Selfish | Teen Ink

Selfish

March 21, 2018
By WordB1rdNaomi GOLD, Tucson, Arizona
WordB1rdNaomi GOLD, Tucson, Arizona
12 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
"No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If [he/she] did, he/she would cease to become an artist." - Oscar Wilde


When I had just barely grown up, and I first realized
That my life was two extremes
With no middle ground to balance upon
I threw myself over the edge
Into everyone else’s separate oblivion
Because I thought that maybe I could balance out
The crazy
With a sense of innocence
And generosity
And care for the well-being of others
But I didn’t realize that such a choice
Was
Irreversible.

When I first answered the phone when she called
I didn’t realize it meant I was
Her lifeline
For the rest of mine.
When I first let him cry on my shoulder
I didn’t realize
I was volunteering myself to my own public execution
That would come about by drowning
In the tears of others
While they all watched, chattering,
Doll’s wooden mouths, painted rotting lips,
Clacking in tandem,
“She’s so kind, always listening, always quiet,
Never uncaring, never ignorant, never
Selfish.”
“Such a shame that something like this
Would befall someone so young, so sweet, so
Selfless.”

When I went to that party, I said
A glass of wine. Two shots
At most.
Six ounces of Captain Morgan later, I said
One drunken hug. A kiss on the cheek
Is the limit.
The next morning, when I woke up tangled in his arms, I said
One quick, honest explanation.
A confession
Would be best.
When he asked me to dinner the next day, I said
A plate of salad. One movie, maybe.
When I went home with bruises on my thighs
And my back
And my legs, I said
Well. That’s something new. When my friend told me
I was crossing a line, I said
I’ll tell you everything. I promise.
When I went home with my head in my hands
And my spine curled into the forlorn answer
To the questions no one wanted to ask me, I said
One cut. Just a little glass edge, to siphon out
The loneliness.
An hour later, when the skin on my arms
Was as red and ragged as my hair
As I raked my bloodstained fingers through it
And I spelled out my name
In silent, liquid letters
On the tile floor, I whispered to myself, “You win…”
And I said
Nothing.

And so I sit here
And I spell out my thoughts
And I wonder
After so many years of smiles
And strokes
And embraces
And speeches
And magnanimousness
On the behalf of others
How did I
Become so
Selfish?


The author's comments:

When did the definition of selfish become so convoluted?


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