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