The Saga
is selfish
histrionic
A lying manipulative person holding onto dear life.
An image of youth princess sociallyte that never quite made it happen.
Relying heavily on a rich husband and hippy style boyfriend popping onto the stage once a moon to keep the fire lit after another tormented argument trapped in jealous delusion.
Beyond a fantasy of desperate need for others to carry them along with a fanfare parade of accolades that once mesmerized codependents like me to cling to coat tails now faded as dust and chaos remain.
I witness the truth in the breath grabbing straws of recognition with each new business venture laid on a pyramid of political opinions in conspiracies making lively conversation.
Unraveling among yarns of nostalgia with the spotlight upon only them.
HEATED under the surface
All cost and sorrow over what might have been had she not poured it all into motherhood.
Extreme generosity a genuine consolation prize distracting a shady efficiency of being thrown under the bus I gladly take the blame and my apologies for holding her accountable to things said and promises made.
How dare I
I can see now moving back from the flame the busyness as a smoke screen to avoid quality and depth that her skills to throw money at any hint of disappointment towards unfair play.
The pedestal in the distance seems more like a prison cell surrounded by a tornado with the false calm at the center.
The weather is better in the valley and chasing storms no longer give me thrills.
Maya Rose 