Status: Just a drabble
Selfish
1
If you don’t control you own mind someone else will.
Dark, curled hair floated around her head swayed in the slight breeze like a thousand trees in a forest along a stormy sea. Piercing hazel eyes stared in wonderment at the floor. Soft hands filled with callouses pulled at a skirt that rustled like the crisp leaves in autumn. Feet clad with scuffed, old boots swung to and fro with a leisurely pace. Back pressed against the cool, paneled wall, drew in its warmth. In a room full of crowded people, she sat alone.
Not the she minded being alone. It was simply commonplace nowadays for people to leave her to reveal in isolation. They judged her for her doings, for her wants, for her dreams and simply for who she was. They left her alone, often shunned, because they did not understand her. They left her alone because they were disgusted.
Why?
Why didn’t they understand? Was it because she was so entirely different to them? Was it because she thrust her beliefs upon just like a preacher may on a Sunday? Was it because she was indecisive? Or because she was stubborn? Did she treat them rudely? Cuss in their faces? Soil their holy and sacred ground? Did she spit on their culture? Or question their existence?
No.
They left her alone, they isolated, they shunned because they thought of her a selfish because she wanted both. She did both. She was both.
She wanted to wear both her scuffed boots and her freshest, most crisp, floral skirts. And for that they called her selfish. She wanted to grace her head with a crown of fresh daisies and pansies while rolling in mud and dirt. And for that they called her selfish. She wanted to both dance in the rain and hate its very presence. And for that they called her selfish. She wanted to both cry out in joy and in pain simultaneously. And for that they called her selfish.
They thought of her as selfish because she loved both her most hated enemy and dearest friend. They thought of her as selfish because she helped both the old cross the street and the young play on it. They thought of her as selfish because she both knitted soft woolen scarves and played in the roughest games of football. They thought of her as selfish because she kicked up the stones and smelled the roses. They thought of her as selfish because she spoke words of wisdom while she spoke of pure nothings. They thought of her as selfish because she looked to be bored but gazing of in admiration.
They branded her a selfish because she was both black and white. They branded her as selfish because she loved both male and female alike. They branded her as selfish because shun in the limelight but hated the glory. They branded her as selfish because she was right whilst she was wrong. They branded her as selfish because she smiled while she cried. They branded her as selfish because she was young in the body but old in the heart. They branded her as selfish because she wore the scares of battle with dignity but never breathed as much as a word of the story. They branded her as selfish because she listened but did not offer advice. They branded her a selfish because she sought to bring peace but not through violence.
And so they wanted her to be different. They wanted her to choose. To be one or the other.
So she changed herself for them. She became one but not the other. And so she stripped back her layers like the trees shed their leaves in winter, and while she did so she reflected upon herself and upon them. She took a single step back and wondered.
She wondered if they really ever saw themselves. She wondered if they saw how they acted. She wondered if they saw their doings. She wondered if they saw themselves for who they really were.
They had slain their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, daughters and sons, spilling their life blood over simple pastures of land in the name of peace. They said they accepted but rejected those who were different. They wanted multiculturalism but they tried to assimilate all those who came. They claimed to respect differences of opinions but shoved their own beliefs down other’s throats. They claimed they had nothing when they had everything they needed. They claimed to be hungry when full. They wanted to be different, to be better but resisted change. They said they were helping others but were really doing so for their own gain. They claimed to be humble but spun their stories bigger that a spider’s web. They claimed to be honest but lied through their teeth. The claimed to be respectful but laughed at the face and behind the back. They claimed to be equal but the more able took from the less. They all claimed to be individuals and celebrate independence but all fell into mob mentality.
And for that they should be the ones who were called selfish. They should be the ones who had been shunned, who had been forgotten and lost. They should be the ones stripped of their identity for doing both. For wanting both. For being both.
And yet they still said that it was she that was selfish. So she continued to remain isolated but she was fine with not belonging with society. She was fine with being an individual because she realised if something as simple as her wearing scuffed boots with a floral skirt made her selfish, she could not even contemplate what that made them.
And so the girl with dark hair that floated in the breeze, with hazel eyes that stared in wonderment, with soft hands patch worked with callouses adorned in her scuffed boots and her prettiest floral skirt remained sitting alone in a crowded room.
Dark, curled hair floated around her head swayed in the slight breeze like a thousand trees in a forest along a stormy sea. Piercing hazel eyes stared in wonderment at the floor. Soft hands filled with callouses pulled at a skirt that rustled like the crisp leaves in autumn. Feet clad with scuffed, old boots swung to and fro with a leisurely pace. Back pressed against the cool, paneled wall, drew in its warmth. In a room full of crowded people, she sat alone.
Not the she minded being alone. It was simply commonplace nowadays for people to leave her to reveal in isolation. They judged her for her doings, for her wants, for her dreams and simply for who she was. They left her alone, often shunned, because they did not understand her. They left her alone because they were disgusted.
Why?
Why didn’t they understand? Was it because she was so entirely different to them? Was it because she thrust her beliefs upon just like a preacher may on a Sunday? Was it because she was indecisive? Or because she was stubborn? Did she treat them rudely? Cuss in their faces? Soil their holy and sacred ground? Did she spit on their culture? Or question their existence?
No.
They left her alone, they isolated, they shunned because they thought of her a selfish because she wanted both. She did both. She was both.
She wanted to wear both her scuffed boots and her freshest, most crisp, floral skirts. And for that they called her selfish. She wanted to grace her head with a crown of fresh daisies and pansies while rolling in mud and dirt. And for that they called her selfish. She wanted to both dance in the rain and hate its very presence. And for that they called her selfish. She wanted to both cry out in joy and in pain simultaneously. And for that they called her selfish.
They thought of her as selfish because she loved both her most hated enemy and dearest friend. They thought of her as selfish because she helped both the old cross the street and the young play on it. They thought of her as selfish because she both knitted soft woolen scarves and played in the roughest games of football. They thought of her as selfish because she kicked up the stones and smelled the roses. They thought of her as selfish because she spoke words of wisdom while she spoke of pure nothings. They thought of her as selfish because she looked to be bored but gazing of in admiration.
They branded her a selfish because she was both black and white. They branded her as selfish because she loved both male and female alike. They branded her as selfish because shun in the limelight but hated the glory. They branded her as selfish because she was right whilst she was wrong. They branded her as selfish because she smiled while she cried. They branded her as selfish because she was young in the body but old in the heart. They branded her as selfish because she wore the scares of battle with dignity but never breathed as much as a word of the story. They branded her as selfish because she listened but did not offer advice. They branded her a selfish because she sought to bring peace but not through violence.
And so they wanted her to be different. They wanted her to choose. To be one or the other.
So she changed herself for them. She became one but not the other. And so she stripped back her layers like the trees shed their leaves in winter, and while she did so she reflected upon herself and upon them. She took a single step back and wondered.
She wondered if they really ever saw themselves. She wondered if they saw how they acted. She wondered if they saw their doings. She wondered if they saw themselves for who they really were.
They had slain their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, daughters and sons, spilling their life blood over simple pastures of land in the name of peace. They said they accepted but rejected those who were different. They wanted multiculturalism but they tried to assimilate all those who came. They claimed to respect differences of opinions but shoved their own beliefs down other’s throats. They claimed they had nothing when they had everything they needed. They claimed to be hungry when full. They wanted to be different, to be better but resisted change. They said they were helping others but were really doing so for their own gain. They claimed to be humble but spun their stories bigger that a spider’s web. They claimed to be honest but lied through their teeth. The claimed to be respectful but laughed at the face and behind the back. They claimed to be equal but the more able took from the less. They all claimed to be individuals and celebrate independence but all fell into mob mentality.
And for that they should be the ones who were called selfish. They should be the ones who had been shunned, who had been forgotten and lost. They should be the ones stripped of their identity for doing both. For wanting both. For being both.
And yet they still said that it was she that was selfish. So she continued to remain isolated but she was fine with not belonging with society. She was fine with being an individual because she realised if something as simple as her wearing scuffed boots with a floral skirt made her selfish, she could not even contemplate what that made them.
And so the girl with dark hair that floated in the breeze, with hazel eyes that stared in wonderment, with soft hands patch worked with callouses adorned in her scuffed boots and her prettiest floral skirt remained sitting alone in a crowded room.