One Blow #DVAM17

When your world is held up by rickety stilts, one blow is all it takes for it to break. My world fell apart when my father dealt the blow and the vessels that broke were on my mother’s face.

My sister would later tell me the screams that escaped my mother’s throat sounded like glass breaking into shards and I would spend an eternity imagining how anguish sounded like in her soft, sweet voice, trying to forgive myself for not being able to help her. I couldn’t have, I’d tell myself over and over. I’d been out that night enjoying the bites of the evening wind with a lover holding my hand. He’d felt safe and I’d felt infinite. I couldn’t have known.

The 'F' Word

"Where there is a fight, there is blood, sweat and tears, and a reason to live." | Written by May Cho of The Mayden
When I was younger and weeping at the altar of carbon-printed paper flown half-way across the world, they told me this was just another obstacle on my path towards the future, the pinnacle that would be the culmination of all my hard work. They told me that, when reached, the pain of the present would melt away leaving behind a pristine, content and happy mind. There is nothing I could want more.

"Just think of the future," they patted my head. Slammed stacks of textbooks on my desk. Assessed my worth through bell curves and scarlet letters.

But I beg the question: what the fuck is the future?

Dead and Scorned: An Obituary

May Cho, self-proclaimed blogger and writer, died last night from complications of losing her soul.

During her living days, May spent a considerable amount of time crafting the perfect “About Me” page. A version never lasted more than a few months. Until her death, there still is no way of accurately describing her; she was all bones and no flesh, and there never was much to her because she never gave much to the world. She preferred to remain a mere body of colored hair and pale lips instead of becoming the stories she so vociferously supported, choosing to perpetuate a false image of herself, dictating meticulously how exactly she should appear in pixels and on screens – broody, intellectual and uncanny – when all she really was amounted to a mere lump of desperation in the short period of time she seemed to believe was her life.

© The Mayden.