You said I was haunted, that my body was filled with shadows. You said I did not belong with you, that I was rebellious, difficult, unmanageable like my tresses.
You said I couldn’t be trusted, that I held words captive, that they became portals at my touch, possessed, like dark seeds planted in disturbed and twisted soil.
You said that I hovered between sleeping and waking, and in that limbo I was spinning webs, writing verses, stories, the words casting spells disguised as literature.
You knew fear. You feared the skeletons that rattled in your heart, the ones you could not escape, the echoes of memories that have haunted you across the years.
You said I disturbed the secrets long hidden inside you, those things you want so much to forget, the private darkness that erupts within you when you least expect it.
The fact that you abandoned me I was hurt, but injuries can heal; far worse than this you called me a witch, a Lorelei, a temptress
and with those words
you stole my hope.
First Published in Life and Legends.