Welcome Me

I am a selfish person. I want what's best for me and the people I love. But mostly me. I hope that I die before anyone else I love does.

Heartache is the medicine for love, and it's the worst sort of remedy. I'm tired of getting sick, but I've been there so many times I can hardly taste this prescription anymore. I want to give it away, and that's selfish of me.

But who ever decided that selfish is bad?

I've made selfish decisions in the past, with little regard for what others would think of me. Even my parents. They said it wasn't smart, that it was dangerous, that I needed to think through it more. They don't know me.

And it was in those moments of selfishness that I came to know myself better. I don't think that's wrong.

Unfortunately, there was a difference of opinion on what's best for me. It was then that I lost it.

When the pain shot through my skull, I tried to stop it. I expected to see crimson blood staining my fingers, but there was none because the damage was inside.

Perhaps someday I'll heal. If I start taking that medicine again. Not the first kind, but the kind that allows me to forget. Except I'm not sure that I want to.

I was told I am a leader but I was born to be a follower. I hang around the back of the crowd, with a bunch of the black sheep, and I don't want to give that up. Because it looks really lonely up there at the front with all those perfect white ones. And I'm just one of the ninety-nine, but I've been welcomed into the fold.