I am a burnt out candle, a soaked flame. My ambition no longer lingers between charcoal embers and broken logs—he has drenched all I had left with my biggest weakness; sorrow. He has made me feel bad for things I never believed I could feel bad for. He has taken every story I have ever imagined and made it so I was the antagonist.
You are the blip in my story.
I am a glitch in his otherwise flawless game. He has chapters of war, vengeance, and little spots of lust. He had survived being lonesome; being the lone wolf of his book, and then along came HER. SHE was elegant, beautiful, and maybe a little too perfect. SHE is my mother. He had fallen for HER (I suppose) with no real boundaries—no guard, no fear of heartache. He had believed HER to be the final chapter of his woes. And, perhaps for the time being SHE had been. I wonder what it would have been like to see Warship (because I will never call him father again) in love. Was he a gentleman? Was he caring? Did he risk all he had in hope SHE would remain happy?
I guess he had.
Maybe that is why the heartbreak was so vivid. I wish I knew why SHE had left us.. me… alone in a god awful storm. Why SHE had deserted him and left him to unveil why. Not an explanation, not even a conversation—it had ended. SHE had been his mistake, his regret—something that had resulted in me.
You are my burden.
I am. I want to feel sorry—no I do feel sorry. I feel horrible that I had ever come to this place; but I don’t feel bad for Warship. I don’t feel bad that he is left with not only no lover, but now with no daughter. He did this. He made a bad situation a horrible situation. To top it off, he had made me hurt.
No one hurts me. Only I can hurt me.
I am dead to you.
But, Warship, you are dead to me as well.
From here on out, I am a child of no heritage. My mother was a mare whom loved too much, my father was a man who was away serving. I came upon Beqanna at one year old. The truth would be my secret. The lie would be everyone else’s ear candy.
Oh how nice, you grew up with such great love and support.
And I will nod, because I can pretend. They don’t need to know. I won’t be that girl. You know, the one whom brags about having a shitty life in hope that someone will give her a shower of I am Sorry’s and I Am Here For You’s.
This is where my book begins—I will scrap my first chapter. I will use it to kindle the beginning of my flame, reignite whatever has been drenched with water and heat it with more ambition. I will become something so that one day, SHE and Warship will see how good they could have had it. How well their (ex) daughter has done and realize they get no claim to my success.
She did it on her own. We are not to thank.
That is right. I did do it on my own, and you are not to thank. You are to thank for teaching me I did not need parents, love, or support. That is fairy tale bullshit and lies to spread hippie glee for all to hear. It is an excuse for the “forgotten”. It is a crutch for horses whom have no real ambition. Let me blame my upbringing for being a horrible living being.
I realize now that the sun is rising and for the first time I am not overlooking it between pine tree tops but instead surrounded by an open green field. I feel as though the light has already heated my heart two degrees—as if the sun is what will burn my kindling embers.
You are the blip in my story.
I am a glitch in his otherwise flawless game. He has chapters of war, vengeance, and little spots of lust. He had survived being lonesome; being the lone wolf of his book, and then along came HER. SHE was elegant, beautiful, and maybe a little too perfect. SHE is my mother. He had fallen for HER (I suppose) with no real boundaries—no guard, no fear of heartache. He had believed HER to be the final chapter of his woes. And, perhaps for the time being SHE had been. I wonder what it would have been like to see Warship (because I will never call him father again) in love. Was he a gentleman? Was he caring? Did he risk all he had in hope SHE would remain happy?
I guess he had.
Maybe that is why the heartbreak was so vivid. I wish I knew why SHE had left us.. me… alone in a god awful storm. Why SHE had deserted him and left him to unveil why. Not an explanation, not even a conversation—it had ended. SHE had been his mistake, his regret—something that had resulted in me.
You are my burden.
I am. I want to feel sorry—no I do feel sorry. I feel horrible that I had ever come to this place; but I don’t feel bad for Warship. I don’t feel bad that he is left with not only no lover, but now with no daughter. He did this. He made a bad situation a horrible situation. To top it off, he had made me hurt.
No one hurts me. Only I can hurt me.
I am dead to you.
But, Warship, you are dead to me as well.
From here on out, I am a child of no heritage. My mother was a mare whom loved too much, my father was a man who was away serving. I came upon Beqanna at one year old. The truth would be my secret. The lie would be everyone else’s ear candy.
Oh how nice, you grew up with such great love and support.
And I will nod, because I can pretend. They don’t need to know. I won’t be that girl. You know, the one whom brags about having a shitty life in hope that someone will give her a shower of I am Sorry’s and I Am Here For You’s.
This is where my book begins—I will scrap my first chapter. I will use it to kindle the beginning of my flame, reignite whatever has been drenched with water and heat it with more ambition. I will become something so that one day, SHE and Warship will see how good they could have had it. How well their (ex) daughter has done and realize they get no claim to my success.
She did it on her own. We are not to thank.
That is right. I did do it on my own, and you are not to thank. You are to thank for teaching me I did not need parents, love, or support. That is fairy tale bullshit and lies to spread hippie glee for all to hear. It is an excuse for the “forgotten”. It is a crutch for horses whom have no real ambition. Let me blame my upbringing for being a horrible living being.
I realize now that the sun is rising and for the first time I am not overlooking it between pine tree tops but instead surrounded by an open green field. I feel as though the light has already heated my heart two degrees—as if the sun is what will burn my kindling embers.