TW: Abuse
He used to play Moonlight Sonata on my grandmother’s rustic white piano; It was one of the few things about Him I always found beautiful. The haunting melody would fill her small living room, and my chest would fill with dread.
It was always odd to remember that a Monster was only human, that He could be pleasant to be around. That He was capable of more than foul deeds and senseless violence. Truly, I think it made the bad even more discomforting; He was not just some vile creature of Sin, but a person who chose to be cruel.
…
I am afraid of myself.
I feel my mother’s anger in me; it has been inherited, absorbed, and multiplied. Seeds of rage were planted at birth and watered by tears and grief. I am afraid of the fire that sits beneath my skin.
(And I wonder, if I have my mother’s flame, what of His legacy do I carry with me. Will I be a Monster one day? Do I carry pieces of His blackened soul?)
I am terrified of myself.
I taste what I am capable of at times, the disconnect between my feeling self and my mind, the anger, self-righteousness, bloated self-pity, and other carefully placed vices that may someday intertwine and become something truly terrible.
…
Gluttony is a sin of the flesh.
My corporeal form hungers for All.
…
I am afraid of you, by the way.
You, and anyone else I hold close to my heart.
But we’ve taken a step closer (and a step back).
And that terrifies me.
In my time with you, I wish more than anything that I am not the cause of any greater pain.
Believe it or not, you are someone I cherish.
…
Do you remember, mother?
The feeling of my hair wrapped in your fist?
I remember the terror as the door came down.
My body was cold, wet, and naked on the bathroom floor as you landed your blows.
Did it make me smarter, mother?
Any more diligent?
…
I miss you, Lady.
Your smile is a comfort that feels so far away now.
Your touch is an embrace that tells me that I may be at peace.
I crave that now and always.
(Someday I’ll find the words to tell you just how grateful I am for your friendship. I’ll find the right combination of letters to convey to you just what a magnificent person you are, so that you may feel the breadth of my love).
…
Some days I imagine myself as a broken doll.
(An indulgent fantasy, I know).
Just some garishly painted, empty, beaten husk.
Useless and meant to be discarded, yet haphazardly thrown in some dusty corner; a reminder of what used to be (what could have been).
…
I haven’t felt like this in quite some time.
Today, I could watch the world burn.
.
Extraordinarily Ordinary 