if you've ever felt like something that's out of place within what is supposed your own bloodline, maybe you can understand this; i am sitting with the truth that love cannot be forced, and grief cannot be performed for others' comfort.
011 | no grave of mine
i'm visiting the grave of
my “father's” parents;
but my father is not my father,
and even if i didn't know it back then,
i never called them “grandma & grandpa”
we were never quite as close
as i was with my other grandparents
– the gods know my other grandpa plays in a whole different league
than the wholre rest of the family, but still -
and there was always a creeping feeling of
distance;
like i don't truly belong,
like we have nothing in common.
now, my “aunt” – who is not my aunt -
asked me to look after the grave
because i live closest
and she doesn't trust her brother, my “father”
and because she lives on another fucking continent
while i live one village away
and
i am standing at this grave
staring
feeling nothing
even the guilt about that has disappeared
it's like looking
at a stranger's grave
it should still feel fresh, though?
my “grandfather” passed away last year
– or wait, was it the year before?
it hasn't been that long, is all i know
and it's not like we never had a good time together
but still
i am standing here
feeling nothing
back at the car
i already forgot the year
my “grandmother” died,
again
but i finally feel something
something else
i feel
free?
and a tiny bit of guilt
for not feeling guilt
for not feeling anything
this is hard to share
because it paints me like a monster;
but if
finally being able to leave something
painful and devastating behind
makes me one,
i shall embrace it.
(is this my villain arc?)
(no)
(no)
(this is the part where i wake up and choose myself)
#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #somestillbleed #whattheflowersknow