Untethered, floating aimlessly,
Not bothered by burdens,
Without the trepidation of expectations,
My soul has found tranquility.
Exhume me, my dear, every time I fall under,
For I will weather your storms for the stillness in you.
Vanquish the grey clouds in you,
Set your soul free as I have mine,
Feel the world but let it not hurt you,
Gut you.
I cut myself on angel hair and baby’s breath,
Placing myself on the pyre.
I have come out of it,
And hope to never fall again.
I stopped caring, my dear.
Don’t care, in this facetious world,
It’s okay being selfish.
Call it the art of taking care of yourself,
Not giving others, a chance to strangle you.
I am no more waiting in line to be executed.
I’m on an exile, taking care of myself,
Loving myself,
and mending my open wounds.

.    .    .