You can hear it on the wind sometimes, her sobbing laughter. As her ghostlike arms clutched another innocent to her chest with desperation, such sadness, needless pain.
If you saw her, you might think she was the monster. Her hair a snarled mess, eyes hard as granite. Her once beautiful body, coveted by gods, punished for the same reason.
She held her victims in a thrall, striking and deadly. Hunted for what she had become, what they had made her. Until one day she was struck down.
In modern times you can still see her spirit in the rage of every innocent who has suffered at the hands and minds of the true monsters in the world.
You saw it in how they continued to fight no matter how many times they were pushed down. Told they didn’t matter. In each of them her spirit survived and pushed them to thrive.
Each one shows that she was not a monster, but rather a protector of those who suffered, suffered in their minds, at the hands of others. Suffered for their rights, beliefs, and growth. In them her memory lived on. Reckless and fierce.
How tired you make me.
I grow weary and old when I am supposed to be young and full of dreams.
I feel as if I have lived a hundred years, so exhausted does my soul and heart bear down on me.
But I have not even truly lived yet in this one life.
There has been no grand love or even grander adventure.
There has been no freedom from this pain and heartbreak.
Only this staid life in exchange for a paycheck I have been told is what brings happiness.
And I…I have been to scared to seek more because of the whispers that scream I’ll fail.
Because of the screams from those that failed that whisper back I am not enough.
It feels as if my soul has been bleeding out for eternity, a slow and painful death.
Until I am gasping for air out loud because I cannot hold it back.
My heart beating louder with each breath, a faint ringing in my ears over and over. Each beat the same set of words of living with hopes of peace and freedom.
I cannot go on as I have any longer. I must let go of what was and instead carve out a life that is mine in every way. I must be be young even though I am old. And old even while I am young.
You speak to me, but your words prove you are deaf to what I say, to what I feel.
You speak about me, but your words prove you don’t know me and only say what makes you feel best.
You speak as if I cannot hear, as if I do not remember all the words that you have used before.
More importantly you speak as if your actions have not spoken louder than your words.
As if you have not already proven to me that you are deaf to my pain and my hopes.
As if you had not savaged the frayed ties that are barely holding us together yet again.
As if you had not shown me who you truly are beneath the veneer you wear for others.
Even if you play at something else, I have seen what lies beneath. I will not forget. I cannot forget.
My bones are brittle, as if made of spun glass. Still they hold me strong. If I occasionally shatter, who should know? I am still whole, only broken within.
My organs cringe, shrinking away from their duties. As the world tries to consume me with its spite. For the sake of its own un-faced pain, they will attempt to ruin me.
My skin grows taunt and becomes a mask for the madness and glory within. Hidden from a population of those that pretend closeness for insecurity or powers sake.
My bones, my organs, my skin….you see only my body. Only what you wish to see. What you wish to judge and take.
But what am I really?
One day you will hear my laugh from the heavens and you will know. It will send a chill down your spine. Send fear into your heart. You will wish to never hear it again….
Yet it will haunt you in your dreams. Both your nightmares and those of magic bliss, so then you will know what you tried to destroy.