my mythology

i was born from the unhappy union of a withered heart and poisoned fruit. a daughter of discord. so it's not surprising that my thoughts on love and life were troubled from the start. there was no hope for something to last. no ambition for forever. things were always in a state of collapse, a tight string of strife.

the threat of loss loomed in the air and choked our lives with despair. like black smoke on the battlefield, it lingered. i often felt suffocated. beaten down. and maybe once or twice (perhaps a million times that) lifted a white flag of surrender and offered to barter truce for both sides. it never happened. it still hides, lulls, and erupts in great conflagration, hitting me when i least suspect it. this has always been a greater war than they bargained for. the gods must love unrest.

i thought things could only get better by withholding affection, by denying my self. i became a guarded child. self-protected by my isolation. it became so natural - pretend not to care. fake a smile. tell them lies. instead i got bitter.

i inherited rage and rebellion. i scoffed at hope. i took up a sword, and like a berserker with a mouth full of blood from biting my tongue, i lashed out indiscriminately, slashing at strangers with wild circling swings. better to strike first and hurt, than to be hurt. i was a good pupil who learned all the wrong lessons. i took revenge on people who dared to lessen the distance. i mocked their attempts at friendship and closeness even as i craved it. eventually the curious and kind were shamed into retreat. and the cycles of desire and despair continued.

yet for a while there was happiness. i imagined myself a sorceress, possessed of a dangerous beauty and a voice to keep men enthralled. i transformed them into swine with spells of sweet words and stares of seduction. i swelled with confidence. i felt loved. but love is an unstable, powerful magic. its strength derived from bold belief or weak mind. or both. or more. in truth i was fooled by my own enchantments.

sometimes sitting in the dark, watching for shadows at the base of the door, and within the space of solitary confinement, i lamented my name. i thought what a burden it was to be a familiar reminder of constant feuding, the personification of hostilities. if i had but one vowel to switch, my life might have had more joy. i could have been adored. i might have ushered into shrinking hearts a tenderness and rekindled passion. my mischief might have been smiled upon instead of reviled. or i might have been a blessing. a kind messenger. a calm of storm like an arc and covenant promising fair weather. alas, fate sent me as a skein to be untangled.

for years i've been working out the knots that fetter my life so that my fingers feel weak from pulling apart kinks and smoothing out string. but i'm getting there. and the stiffness in joint is a welcome ache.

it seems i've put down my shield, lay down my sword, and picked up a pen. wielding words, i suppose, as weapons to battle the past, protect me from the present, and keep my future from fraying before it's spun. i silenced the blood-curdling shouts for continued unrest and instead strain to listen to murmurs from my muse urging me to create a new mythology.

one day i'd like to share the tale of how i took a straight line of thread, stretched it toward the sky, and climbed my way to heaven.