The Ashes and the Echo
This world is a dream, a tangled web of potential themes that either choke your world or leave you cold. It will break you up or keep you down, and in the end, you are left in the cold white silk and without a spider to warm the moment you are nothing, you are caught between life and death…reality and dream. You are stuck.
My skin feels strange, like it almost doesn’t fit. I’m trying not to scream, to run away; they tell me that I’m beautiful. But what I feel inside isn’t elegant. It is not lovely. It is grotesque, damaged, and ugly. I see the patterns of all the things I do wrong. I hear the words “I love you” and this creature inside laughs. It pants and paws and rolls around trying to find freedom. I read a book about werewolves once, but no dogs have bitten me. I always do that. Try to make excuses, find another way. Anything to avoid admitting the cold, hard truth: I am a beautiful monster.
There are too many words inside me. I think I always felt that way. My brain circles specific memories. Like things have significance. You must let go. But my brain clings to feelings and emotions. Maybe it isn’t me, but my creature. My beast, my precious little liar that is fucking with my life in a sick game to stay in pain; pain is familiar. I am at Home, and I feel safe in the pain that I know and keep it inside instead of going past this to a new beginning.
What makes a great story? Is it the thrilling chase? Is it the loss of the hero in a fight for good? Is it the moment between two people who realize they love each other more than words could ever express? Is it the moment the bad guy suddenly becomes better than the hero?
I cannot say with certainty that the Sabretooth Sheep is good. I cannot say that the moments that I have experienced mean anything except that they build up my soul. I have a voice, and it has shouted at me to speak, to sing, to cry, to scream, and let the whole world know that you can rip me down, you can tear out my heart, you can hate me, and you can love me. But at the end of the day, there is just me, just a shadow in the mist. 😈🖤🪄
Friends;
You don’t have to understand. It might be best if you don’t. And there is a big part of me that hopes you never have to know.
But, some of you do know. Some of you are there. You are in it.
Sometimes we are too blinded by light or lost in the dark to remember that we are the Fire.
The light in the dark. The lost star. The rain in the reckoning.
Today; is your day of becoming.
- Misty Mae
