Beauty in the Mending: From Scorn to Throne
This is a work of fiction based on actual and true events. Any reference to actual living beings e.g man, woman or cats is purely coincidental and in no way refers to any man, woman or cat creature reading this post. This post is not for the sensitive-at-heart or the man with a phobia for women. It should be approached with as much caution as possible [and maybe a helmet and groin guard] because it may have a tendency to emasculate.
Reader discretion is advised for paragraphs with bitterness, anger and resentment towards the fictional characters, “Man” and “Good Man” [men in general, really]. I repeat, this.is.pure.fiction – an expression of creativity if you will. Otherwise, on a much lighter and healthier note, I sincerely hope you survive it.
There is beauty in the mending of broken things!
To Man, I was sure I was worth the pursuit and yes, I was sure I would marry when I wanted. Young, smart, funny and confident – that was once upon a time when I was the girl with the flowers in her hair, painting rainbows everywhere and dancing in the rain. Some say a woman is never complete without a m-a-n to “own” her. And sometimes, I agree with these some-people because a man can be absolutely wonderful when he means to. Loving her and caring for her like she's that prized sports car he's always wanted or better.
Man, you can light up a woman's world brighter than the sun lights up the sky at the break of dawn or at high noon. Sometimes, Man, you can crack that code and even if you break your back doing it, you will be proud to have done it because that's the hunter, the protector and the provider in you. Man, you conquered me; you had me dancing to your beat; you had me playing with the butterflies and putting flowers in my hair. Man, you hit the ball out of the park when you pursued me and Man, You.Got.Me.
There had to be a BUT because once you had me, somewhere along the way, Man, you gave in to the beast within and shattered my world – somewhere along the way, it all went downhill – you changed; I changed because you changed; then you left me; and it all ended! And while I was trying to mend my broken heart, something new began. I met Good Man and I carried into my something new, all the baggage from the something old that had shattered me.
To Good Man, My new-found Good Man, you were not the enemy then, you were not really the one I was angry at – the Man I used to love was. When I was shriveled and worn, he had no more use for me. Yes, he did me wrong but what was I doing all the while? Acting weak, immature, ignorant, unintelligent and foolish? Yes! But I vowed never to let myself get hurt again. Why am I saying all these things? Well it's simple really – I want you to know the truth – you were all the same to me then. You represented everything that Man was simply by being male. Most people will say it's a lie and that I had a choice but I didn’t believe them then. He left me wounded and broken; and then you, Good Man, you came along to pick up the pieces. And you picked them up alright. I should have come with a sign on my forehead that said “Come Close At Your Own Risk”. That said, I hope you understand why I did all the nasty things I did.
I confess I did you wrong many times, Good Man, and why you chose to stay is beyond me. Turns out, Man was not the only one with an “inner beast” within. I screamed, I hollered and I bitched about the way he treated me, did not feed me, how he beat me, misused me and trashed me constantly, not paying attention to the lost and helpless look on your face. Even when you loved me right, Good Man, I found a way to make it look wrong. Was I sorry for the way I was acting? I don't think I was then. Was I making you pay? Yes! For all of his sins? Yes! Yes, I was! Calling you names, smiting you, backbiting you, backstabbing you, bad mouthing you; all the bads that I can come up with? Yes! Was I a beast towards you? Yes, yes I was.
I turned and I let you love me, I used you for all your money, milked you for every damn penny that you were worth. I shook and stirred this pot the right way, and made you believe you meant the world to me – you did, but only in a manner of spending. You were only as good looking as the size of your wallet to me, Good Man. No, you were not the enemy here. Simply the misguided fool who didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. All the books and the professors in the world could not save you from your inability to see through this perfectly veiled mess. If women ruled the world, we wouldn’t have any bloody wars. We'd have silent cat-fights filled with intrigue and talk in the back alleys. We would shoot to kill and best believe, we would.not.miss. Indeed, we were not meant to rule that way; we run the world in a more silent, more conspicuous way. I don't need the fame or the power when I can run the heart and the mind that thinks it runs the world. Those were the musings of this bitter and empty heart.
A Penny's Worth
[Sigh] If I had a penny for every wrong word of advice that came my way telling me that every man is the same and in order to survive I had to expect nothing less! Yes, indeed, if I had a penny for every such time, I would have bought myself a clue within a year of my rampage and gloom from the manifestation of the hurt in my heart. So, if I had a penny for every time this beset me, I would buy you an “I'm sorry” written in the sky, among the clouds. The distance from the ground to the sky representing the height of my shame. Yes, shame for all the pain I caused you, Good Man; for those acts of injustice performed out of rage, out of anger, out of bitterness towards you. You, the one who finally treated me right, who was the physical evidence that not all men are the same. Yes, I would have gone to the clue market and bought myself one of those things.
If indeed I had a penny, for every time I believed those lies, I would buy myself an “I'm sorry” and write it on my forehead in permanent ink. I would write it there to remind me every time I looked in the mirror that I am worth more than the residue of improperly digested circumstances – the scum on the surface that was left over from the drama of broken somethings. Yes, I would be ashamed if I had a clue. Ashamed of every minute I wasted fighting to be treated like a man, fighting for the very same power Creator bestowed on you and yet all the while buried deep within and surging, a power of my own, that melts hearts of warriors and weakens the will of dictators; persuasion is my middle name and with this discovery, I would have been a woman whole. Instead, I am a woman scorned and I have chosen to remain – until further notice – without shame and clueless.
My dear Good Man, that was what had become of a woman when scorned. Other times, she's lucky enough to get a clue and get it together. I applaud you for standing by me.