you and me

I Am No Longer a Hostage of Your Moral Poverty.

No hand to tip, no witness to flip,

It’s a tried and closed case.

You buried me at the stake and said: Fuck it, let them eat cake.

Crucifying and burying me alive,

You took the nails from my cross and put them in my coffin

You made hell my headquarters

Not unscathed, I escaped the flames.

You may have shaken me, but despite your best efforts, you’ll never shame me

You may have bought my silence and my non-disclosure, but you’ll never own my soul or the rights to my story.

Since I’ve been gone, you’ve tried to rattle my cage, but I don’t live there anymore.

I’m finally free and more determined than ever to survive.

I should have seen the devil in your details and your sick soul reflected in your actions.

I believed you when you told me I liked it because it was a dirty game. Only in hindsight did I realize I was being groomed by the master in a psychological free-for-all with no damage control. You hurt people and kept them silent. You’re the stigma, the reason why people don’t speak up.

I am no longer your prey.

Self-centered to the core and filled with grandeur, you’re more insidious than addiction.

I am no longer a hostage of your moral poverty.

Punch-drunk and hungover from binge-drinking your bullshit and imbibing on your insults, I healed alone in obscurity. No longer under your influence, I took my time and carefully planned my next move. I followed my gut. I prayed. I looked at my past actions and identified where I had gone wrong. I learned about myself. I vowed to do better.

I learned that sometimes there aren’t answers why. That some people are just shitty. That sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, or in your case, a manifest destiny-filled snake pit.

I learned that some of my actions I thought were strengths were maladaptive, and that I had allowed myself to get caught up in Machiavellian madness. I’m learning to yield, and starting to realize that I’m the gatekeeper of my happiness.

I learned that taking a backseat while one gets their shit together doesn’t equate to defeat, and that I need to banish this previously held belief.

I learned that at some point I needed to stop sparring and say uncle, and that this did not mean I was giving up or giving in.

I learned to cease fire on myself for falling for a farce and learned to forgive the most important person: myself.  

Long gone are the days where I stay in a situation that makes me feel like a piece of shit. I no longer spend my days in a delusional dystopia, dizzily dancing in a claustrophobic circus. Now I dance when and with whom I want, and stomp on the eggshells I used to dance around. I removed the old coats of armor and realized that I clean up pretty nice, inside and out.

And I will always have something they never will: the truth.


Amy Blanaru is a left-leaning Celtic gypsy based in Boston. She works in addiction treatment and likes her pasta al dente. You can find her on Instagram or Facebook.


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Rebelle Society
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