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Alone is a choice, But it is Not a Choice Part 2
by Anastasia SelbyI walk by all of the Christmas lights
wrapped around tree trunks and bushes,
and the Santa Clauses,
inflated and lit from within.
I see people leaving other people's houses,
and I see people in their own houses.
That's what they are.
People.
People, plural,
together,
I am a person.
I go home by myself
and I leave by myself,
I ride my bike by myself,
and I study by myself,
and I wonder how much longer it's going to be like this;
how much longer I am going to feel like
I can't let
anyone in,
because I feel so scared
that they will obliterate me,
just like she did.
Just like my mother did
when she pulled the trigger
and released the bullet
that slammed into the soft part
where the softest hairs grew
and opened a door
into her head
and into another world
and she was gone.
And here I am.
A person. 12/12/2010 Author's Note: BOth poems are written from a recording I recorded while I was on a walk. Unedited.
Posted on 12/12/2010
Copyright © 2025 Anastasia Selby
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/03/11 at 02:35 PM This is a tough write lady. And I must add that I have thought of going in a similar fashion. But it must make such an impact on those who were close and left behind. My father died at 54 and I've outlived him by 20 years. Although strong I thought it was well done.
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