Self Interest
By Bridgitte Thao, 17, Minnesota
What novelty is there in another’s heart?
What new skies are there in another’s eyes?
Perhaps it’s because my own bosom
has crystalized, cynicism turning solid,
or it’s because I do not know how to
cradle with careful fingers, but I
cannot understand the hyperfixation
on connecting another’s aortas and
ventricles to mine. This is my heart;
do not touch it. Do not make a spectacle
or artifact or idol of it. It is mine.
It is cruel and dusty, hasty and fickle,
demanding and terse, all or nothing,
but it is mine. Mine to have, to hold,
to house, to harbor. I don’t want to share.
Love — in all its forms — is such a tricky thing to navigate that it sometimes becomes too much for a growing teenager. While I love many people and wouldn’t trade them for anything, I have had countless days of feeling worn out by the mental and emotional demands made by a strong friendship or sibling relationship. This piece leans into those exasperated emotions and explores potential reasons why I sometimes find it so hard to love.
Instagram: @theebridgitte
