Sanguine Poetry

Hi. I’m back, I guess. 

I’m feeling better, but I’m also feeling lost. I survived a gruelling year with parental alienation and gaslighting, the post-traumatic shock of finally having a healthy relationship, and the horrid experience of losing all my friends as they dropped from my life, one by one, like flies. Most importantly, my world has been turned upside down because everything I knew was, in the end, a lie. 

I’ve tried to make friends and failed. I’ve had relationships slap me in the face with how worthless I seemed to be. Hope seemed to abandon me every time I called to her, trying to get someone, anyone, to come to my aid. 

But even though it’s been a long, long night, I’m finally starting to see the morning sun. 

The sudden urge to research different lanes for myself, clean out my contacts, and change even my chosen name hits me randomly throughout the day. I even took down all my old posts from my instagram account, narrowly escaping the urge to delete the entire things and start from scratch completely. Maybe it seems like a good thing in the moment, but from my memory, that extreme is always something that ends with tragedy. We are not erasing here, we are rebuilding. And you cannot built a better present without acknowledging a worse past exists. 

And if there’s one thing that I’ve learned from this, one thing that will stick in my heart for the rest of my life, it’s that rock bottom is the best place to start again. Maybe it’s a necessity to break everything down to be able to change. A destructive force in the name of Morana followed with the reviving force of spring, of Mokash. It makes less sense than we think, but it doesn’t have to make sense, it only has to have a reason to exist. The only requirement of life is that we keep going, and then we can reap the rewards of the chaos that the universe sows. The plans that fate has in store for us. It makes no sense, but it will soon. Everything happens  for a reason, and that alone is reason to keep living. 

So, about the girl you met a year ago, the one who was scared to acknowledge her existence to anyone she met, the one who thirsted after breadcrumbs of love she would never receive? 

I murdered her. 

She no longer exists. 

Written by: Angel I. Myako (host of the Butterfly Collective)