Giving Myself Flowers

While I can still smell them

A celebration of self.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what I look for outwardly. What I seek in others and why. A helping hand. Celebration. Closure. Validation. Clarity.

Understanding.

Too often, I find silence instead. Silence that echoes across vast chasms in ways that feel haunting.

Heartbreaking.

The energy wasted in the process.

I’ve been asking myself how to turn back inward. How to give myself the support, presence, and celebration I keep reaching for outside of me.

To turn down the importance I give to the perception of others and turn up the volume on my own sense of self.

To give myself flowers while I still can. Giving myself more credit, by any means necessary.

In that process, I’m realizing how often self-celebration looks like letting others be wrong about me.

The biggest reward has been gifting myself the clarity I seek. I’m listening differently. Asking the questions, then noticing not just the response, but what stirs in me as I hear it.

What do I think?

What feels true to me?

Letting that be the real answer.

This is a precious, vital shift, as I have lived long enough to watch the world revere the wretched. To discern that if I allow the applause to lead my steps, I might find myself on a stage I don’t want to be on, performing in ways I don’t respect.

Self-celebration becomes a compass. This is my rhythm, my joy. This is what I honor in myself. Whether or not anyone else notices.

With or without ovation.

Flowers falling.

Even if only from my own hands.

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Killer Instinct is a cultural dispatch on Black diasporic life and sharp media critique. I host a live Internet radio show called Killer Frequency every Friday at 1pm AST—join me. Support, subscribe, and stay sharp 🗡.