Mourning the loss of an illusion
Mourning the loss of a delusion.
Mourning the loss of a lie. Not mine
But I believed it my whole life.
I thought it represented love, the subliminal type.
As the lie becomes clear. As manipulation reveals itself here. As I contemplate the lie. Its revelation coming to die. I find myself at a loss. Knowing my life has been the cost. 52 years. Blood, sweat and fear. Tears.
I now shed, unleashing the dead. Thoughts of me in my past.
Flash in fury. I’m aghast.
Fear of losing the strand that tethers me to his hateful hand.
Tears of loss of the lie that my life has cost. Finding still the strength to stand. Mindful of my own hand.
It hurts beyond measure. Losing the non-hope that was once a treasure.
Fool’s gold it was. That glittered just because.
I didn’t “fall” for it because it glittered. I held tight and clung to it because it was all that mattered.
And matter it did, to the forlorn, abused kid. It helped in making sense in the midst of the senseless violence.
Mourn the loss. You are far better off. The lie he made; designed for your fall, is that one thing you need that allows you to stand tall.
Stand my sister. Stand young child inside. Reconcile to yourself, your own God-given pride.
Not the lie of arrogance sold on a dream. Nor the lie of selfishness created in that stream.
Pride. You stand. Pride. You survived the beast and. Pride. For here you are. Alive. Being.
A shining star.