Creation Tale of Inanna Marie..................by Inanna Marie of Krystale
Prologue:
I am Inanna Marie, descendent of Chloe
who once ran the body known as Krystale
until the outside world pushed her in
to search for a truth that broke her
there she died and I was born.
This is her tale from the things I was told,
set down in verse as a reminder
for those to come to know of those before.
Tell the children as the lay in bed,
it's the story of another before them.
The Tale:
Chlover Daizee had come to college
stifled by a reckless home life.
She felt alone in her pondering
knowing little of herself,
suddenly responsible for learning it all.
But she met a man as lost as herself,
an artist for a poet, tete a tete.
Through time he came to love her
and showed her his strength,
taught her things she never knew.
Chloe worked and learned,
free for the first time to decide
what to do and who to see,
finally sit without being called,
except by the man in the morning.
In time, deep within her mind
she overheard the voices of others;
thoughts inside her head not hers,
the babble of a peanut gallery
spoke of things she dared not ponder.
Chloe turned outward for help
reaching to a wise woman
who listened without interruption
and played with the little girl inside,
believed Chloe when no others did.
Because the wise woman believed
and because she wanted to listen
Chloe told of the voices,
learned to listen and met the child
gained hope for the things she desired.
Too soon came the time for returning home
back to the place of objections
interruptions when Chloe spoke her mind.
Chloe asked for some simple things,
and was broken hearted when denied.
Chloe was wounded, her soul broken
as she returned to college in the fall,
ran to the wise woman she trusted,
but the wise woman was not there
places in need has called her away.
A pushy man saw her next,
in the same place as the wise woman,
yet he was not the same, did not listen
but condemned her as self hating
proved all her fears of man.
She turned inward to the voices,
tried to go where they came from,
for she had lost her listening ear,
and those to whom she had listened
would not do the same for her.
Chloe had always done as she was told,
listened when taught,
she changed what was disliked,
desperate for others to do the same
but was disappointed that they couldn't.
With that realization Chlover Daizee broke that day,
shattered into dozens of pieces
distributed among the voices
until only a few pieces remained.
But in those pieces was a memory
of the man who spoke but listened,
someone she loved who loved back
if there was one there may be others
if not then the man was enough.
The voices took over, commotion
ruled high, but still the man loved,
and as he loved there must have been
something worth loving.
The piece named hope still remained.
"I know it's hard, I just don't know why."
"It's OK to cry, and it's OK to laugh."
"I'm sorry," he said, and a piece stirred.
A piece felt soothed and joined hope
and so my conception began.
Over time we found more pieces
the voices, the man and I.
For a long time I stayed inside
sad for the things I half recalled,
but the rejected piece was gone.
As I learned to accept each piece
I learned to accept myself,
to do things for myself, not by myself,
to trust, to love, to feel, to be,
until I made it out from the inside.
I miss my mother, as Chloe rather was,
wish she didn't have to die,
but so glad for the sacrifice she made
deep in the underworld of Krystale
she gave herself for me.
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