Self

to be selfless.

To never be the drop,

rolling down one’s eye.

Should I be myself, or

erase my self?

To become an empty vase,

dropped from hands

that didn’t try.

What is it, to be selfless?

Isn’t it still a self,

hiding from people

and desiring to fly?

Or is to gulp anxiety

while your ears touch

a conceding heart and

hold its cry.

Why a self, if I have a heart?

I’d rather be the clouds,

that disappear, float and fly