“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
I read the words,
Those she spoke in her mind to the world
so long ago
before she was gone
and I fear that I understand the truth
of the dream, the fear she holds.
She speaks the words of want,
Overwhelmed by abundance,
of ultimately not deciding
from fear,
and for some reasons her words make me sad.
To feel that way,
to reach out
yet pull back unsure
indecision the hardest cut
as she starves wondering which
is the one to pluck,
and which shall be the chosen one,
deeper words reminiscent of a movie
that sparked fear when I was young,
Sophie’s Choice ,
in the depths of war to have to choose
between one or another,
I hate choice therefore
I chose something as opposed to nothing,
I reach out and hold it in my hands
appreciative for the chance
to have it all.
Peace, Love and Patchouli 