Open Letter To My Accusers

Open Correspondence to My Accusers:

From distance the angels cry, “Forgive them for they do not know”

Yet what if they knew? What if they were fully conscious of the engineering, the planning- spying upon me, passing judgment with cunning wit of a serpent: ready to devour.

Suppose that I was indeed the one that touched things best left undisturbed during a trying time: no straight lines to a final destination, only blind curves leaving me on the circumference of life. Imagine for a moment, a mind that is bruised: a rustling of dialogue incoherent even to the fuse of life that gives it air.

This mind of a stranger to myself, one that conducted itself on its own accord reached a frazzled state of fight or flight. I fought.

As the mountain tops speak to the heavens, peaks outstretched in awe and the branches bow to a higher power, I am forever sorry. I cannot take back time: lost forever. For this, I pay dearly with the passing hour and haunting reminders of what cannot be undone.

If I tell you for a moment, I glanced at a field of weeds and saw them as flowers reigning supreme in a dessert I had conjured myself: constructed of a mirage, would that you’re your pain? My oasis was a mirage as is for the travelers before me yearning for salvation.

What harm I did was an instrument of destruction: arrows pointed at loved ones including myself.

Was the rage that erupted from “us”,” we”, and “them” so sweet that we drank from its well once? Yet how is it I am still parched? The bitter blood of brothers swallowed never the nourishment intended for a human vessel. The lining of my mouth is scorched for what I have done: for the tongue that insulted and spoke without humility.

What does your tongue hold in its folds now having contributed to blasphemy?

So indulge me, how is it that you took it upon yourself to play GOD? What ancient ways brought forth the tribunal and eventual exile? Mixed faiths of friends and family took it upon themselves to throw the spears of accusations.

I am not of the faith that stands upon a throne of hierarchy.

I am not you after all.

What God is it that watches and contributes to the fall of a woman you once knew intimately-how latent was your envy for me that it leapt forth to claim superiority? You spoke out of turn in a deceitful language- a language that is mine: defamation. Of all the secrets I know and have witnessed I chose silence as ammunition.