Why do conflicts last so long?
If only, sometimes, our hearts could burn and we wouldn't have to feel anything.
Between them grew a crop of bitterness
that sprouted discordantly one day
beside the more normal beans and turnips
the blood-red soil
whirlpooled around as warning.
Bitterness has shallow roots
like it wasn't nourished well enough
it surfaces easily, silkily and mindlessly
out of the calm surface
as drunk as a prophet
with the broken body of a piano.
It winds around the basin of shadow
where no tears fall, and silence is said,
wedged near
the angry unyielding mountains of our lives
that are raised high like scythes
waiting to make someone dead.
Thoughts
Bitterness is an interesting emotion. It's defined by Oxford Languages as "Anger and disappointment at being treated unfairly; resentment" but when I think of it the latter part is my definition, and also what appears in the poem. Resentment might even be the better word for what I was describing, but "bitterness" has a nice ring to it, a gustatory touch.
After a conflict, bitterness can be a kind of a restraint. The worst kind of restraint, where you sacrifice your emotions and any chance of reconnecting with the other party just to maintain a false sense of normality. It can be deterrence, a way to run far away from problems before trying to solve them. Being bitter can be unprecedented, a feeling triggered by something insignificant that doesn't go away. Or it might have been unpleasantly building up slowly with every minor annoyance. Maybe it seems one way, but is another. Maybe both people in the situation are aware they're being bitter, but think it's the right choice.
No matter what, bitterness further tangles up the web of a relationship, which is why I find it so unpleasant. Sometimes it feels like I'll never resolve all my minor grievances, and I should just wait for them to fade away instead of getting in a confrontation.
Sometimes that works.
-Tomatobean
Add comment
Comments