Vile {Ode to Betrayal}

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


~Dedicated to the preserved ancient knives I’ve pulled out of my back for safe keeping.. Do not dispair, one day I will regift them with my blood still adorning the blades. Of course, thank you to
lovely Jordan Ganschow for being the visual catalyst I needed in editing to dislodge the words I needed to say today. A muse of sorts. Love your face!~

Submitted: September 05, 2018

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Submitted: September 05, 2018

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I knew I wasn’t like other women. I also knew the lack of understanding typically bred jealousy in my same sex. It didn’t matter how hard I had tried to distance myself from people I always cared too much. The sting of women scorned by my mere existence was never something I got used to. Betrayal was the only thing I hadn’t learned to disassociate myself from. Being a queen was not for the weak.
As I stared at the ceiling, I couldn’t fathom what I had ever done to deserve the way I was feeling now by someone I had trusted and called, “friend”.
Even confronted by the truth and the chance to absolve herself of her sins, she lied to my face. I had watched her mouth move and the things she had told my enemy, with my own two eyes. Expected me to believe the back tracking, side-winding nature of her ambiguity.
I held up the sickly beautiful green glass of the bottle of poison labeled “betrayal” and she denied putting it in my evening meal. Yet as it slipped from my adorned fingertips she caught it as it fell to the ground. Cooed to it like a tiny fallen bird from the nest. Sang of the vintage quality and the year that the vile was forged. What it had cost her and the market place value of such a treasure.
The memory of her crouched, half animalistic body started playing in my mind as a silent film in an empty theater. The moving picture was suddenly void of her words. Full knowledge of her body language drained the color of truth from her face. Everything she touched became void of color. The vision started fragmenting. I opened my eyes.
I had allowed her to burn that night. Critics said that it was weak to not allow forgiveness or to pay her a same kindness she had attempted on me. She was trying to afford me her classic projection. I knew that. Hers was a weak attempt to self-actualize, while following false prophets, and trying to destroy me in the process.
A split half second of vulnerable frenzied rage brought my heart from the 1/3 portion of my chest to the ½ position of my throat. My eyes welled with the grief I would not allow to trace a fissure in the perfectly placed powder on my face. I gave less than one fuck to allow what she had done to physically manifest from rage to liquid hot tears. I would rather cut myself open and insert the black plague into my very being.
I couldn’t save her. She would not allow me to help her. So she chose disloyalty and I gave her an honest mercy. I displaced her from my nurturing bosom and tied her to the man who had plotted against me.
I lit them both up on -Friendship Bridge- that she had her minions build as a show of faith once. It now lay right outside of my rose garden. A black mark monument in the map of my castle I would label for tourists and guests as,
“Mercy”
She would never be spoken of again as long as I lived. The knowledge obtained from my purposeful acts of will would purify my blood to a deeper shade of indigo blue. I would be passing on the wisdom to the old soul progeny I would bring into this world. Laboring of love, I forged my wisdom to every atom in myself.
Flipping a switch, I became necessarily void.
Straightening my shoulders and head I stood up to walk poised; out of my chambers. Into the eyes of my beloved peers. I was void of who I was because they were waiting for me to swim in the amber light of their acceptence. Transcending limitations of my body I became,
Present.
~The whole room rose.~
In their presence,
~Seated next to my king~
I became who I was meant to be.
“There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”
~Anais Nin


© Copyright 2018 Lindsey A. Bryant. All rights reserved.

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