The words whispered, “I am not loved,” are devastating.
I was beautiful, gregarious in my shyness, a soul of kindness, and innovating.
But the puppets around me danced to repeatedly crratr thry same scene:
” I am not cherished for who I am – and tbus, discarded.”
I remember when my face fell.
That’s when the first had me.
Then another joined from the pendant.
Then another from the window.
And another mirror.
And then, almost everywhere.
In the camera
At the fairs.
Haunting me.
Warping me.
Lying.
I know who I am.
I know what I could be.
But I can’t be who I was.
They stole my youth.
They took that from me.
All I have now is a new identity.
Wait before you envy me.
I have paid a terrible price.
I was born as if a saint to balance the wreckage of other people’s behaviors; to oust abuses as if I were a savior; and to calm quivering hearts that are tender. I wish that these abilities could work to help my family. But those closest to us do not always want to listen.
My dark side is not pretty – especially when driven into self-defending.
I was raised but a fierce-cutting witch’s blade – so fear me if you think I’m “made.”
Yes, I know you have me.
Maybe from the spells his “mistress” cast.
It makes me mad that he fell for that old trickery.
He had known and wanted better for us once, but then let go of his responsibility.
You are not me, have not had my trials – so do not fear my trials as if they are your own. They are not nor ever will they be.
What right do I have now to desire love?
Why should I accept it if it were to come – now that I am beaten and kicked down to the gutter?
Do not have pitty on me now, oh love.
Where were you when I was bright and hopeful?
When I was on my knees and dutiful?
When I was self-sacrificial and faithful?
When I was valiant and championed you above all others?
Oh fickle, errant love – how you have betrayed my heart’s beliefs and destroyed my self confidence.
I am only remnants of what I could have become had you embracsd me.
When I look into the mirror, I see myself aging. Rapidly. In one year, my hair has gone from hints to streaks of silver graying. It happened after I changed shampoos. People I meet just see me as me and my kid is afraid to hear my distress because they don’t want to get a phobia about aging. But they weren’t listening when I tried to explain what I was feeling. What I am seeing. Something has happened to me. And it got a jump start when my husbsnd left, I had a small stroke, and the Crone laughed as she attached to me that one day when I put on the pendant. The struggle to find and reclaim myself before time runs out is upon me. I have never been here before, and no one stands beside me. Who I am inside is under assault by external entropy. This isn’t aging. It is a spell that’s siphoning energy. Maybe it’s all of the stress that continues weighing. Maybe its the lack of rest while I keep striving to overcome the sense that I’m dying.
Candid Corvid Productions 