• Bella

Ananse, I meet him too.



As a child, I sat by my Nana’s feet.

She told me tales of a spider.

A spider who always played himself.

Put himself in a situation to validate he’s victim complex.

Anase spun his own webs.

Got tangled in them too.

Never figured out to navigate the labyrinths he created.

Or learn to weave them to be navigated.

As an adult, I meet him.

He seemed self-assured.

Put on a mask of “ I don’t care what the world thinks or says about me”.

Behind that peacock pride, lay fable lava, who never really rose from his mother`s laid shell.

Still stuck in that safety, while loops of a gentle female voice reassured him the world was out to get him even before he met it.

When the sun shines, he feels it scold him.

When the birds chip, he says they mock him.

When a chance presents itself, he calls it stress.

So imagine when things are twisted, messy, and undesirable?

The world has turned on him alone.

Anase craved others like him.

To reassure him that his default mode was a norm.

He loved people with better luck, to prove he was being singled out.

Drinking from their blood every ounce of contentment and gratitude of life, they have.

In its place, he sowed seeds of doubt, expectations and dark dark clouds.

As a child, at my Nana’s bedside.

She warned me of the Anases of the world.

I used to think those were stories of my childhood.

Until I saw Anase, mask pulled aside.

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