Flowers grown in dark

close up of red rose on black background
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For so long I learned how

to unlearn living

taking from myself the stuffing of hope

letting it sink into water

to become sea dragon.

For so long I learned how

to unravel my sense of self

until she splayed like un-knotted parts

lost to sense, blown away

by wind and rain.

It is hard for me you see,

to understand the codes others live by

grasp a secret language of self-worth

belief in the core, where others cultivate

confidence or ego in neat parcel.

I had instead, a drive-through approach

shake-n-bake

leave the oven open

for patients to escape the asylum.

I was born a weed

between dirty post-war concrete

little watered, little attended to

I grew and persevered alongside

dog piss and empty coke cans

my color brighter than the cultivated plants

in your garden for my contrast to

yellowed grass much bleached by

urine and exhaust.

But weeds and thin things of little substance

need more than a little luck

to grow up whole

at some point I stopped leaning toward the sun

chose moonlight as my mistress

where over the oval of my sadness

I mistrusted the rest of the world

for she seemed to me then, full of

unkindness and pinches from cruel people.

In safe-guarding ourselves so long

we can easily forget

the chime of purpose

the rain of love

we think we can subsist on existing alone

that’s what I did,

survived without living.

It was long ago now, but still it seems

only yesterday at times, I met you

with your bright electric eyes and your

shocking lack of restraint, how your

madness compelled you forward with

a lightning rod as your scepter

I felt your hand reach for me

and I was undone by the intensity

of us. A jewel within a cave

that for so long held no light.

When you stopped loving me,

it rained for forty days and stayed

dry at night, I walked empty roads with

bare feet and saw flowers like I had

once been, growing fitfully by the side of

street corners, not knowing yet, what they

reached for or whether fate

or courage, would give them

wings.

If you take someone broken who didn’t know

how to be whole and you give them

love, they will either break it accidentally

in their desperation and fear, or love will

consume them and leave them unable

to live without it.

I felt without you;

incomplete, erased, unwilling

to live on, there seemed no point

for I had not learned to love myself

and perhaps I never will,

it’s in my blood, my DNA to be

shockingly empty of self-worth

I exist without living and it has become

a nasty festering wound refusing

to scab over.

You went on with your life because

for you, living wasn’t dependent upon

anything but hope, you had enough of

that to last several people’s lifetimes

it was, I think, the bequeathing of your

sickness. A magician claiming to

turn things to gold, when all he

possessed was slight of hand.

I however, did not know

how to forge hope or find reason beyond

habit for waking each morning, every

day I did, the burn grew ever deeper, never

really resisting the urge to

consume me whole. I heard voices

they would sing lullabies of

jumping from tall buildings

as others would have dreams

of flying. Mine was bent toward

destruction, a solace in the imagining

of ending this charade.

Tarnished people with little reserves

are good bait for hungry souls

who feast on their need to be wanted

with the savagery of a nation.

Since you, I have lived with dying almost

every day, the punctuated purpose of more

than wiping the slate clean, devoid

of consciousness, tantalisingly distant

I am haunted

by memories of joy like a slow

sword delivering poison

too intense for most of the world

I remain alone in my grief

binding it to me like a silent

child.

You knew this when you met me, you let

the dogs of your heat devour what

little strength was left, for survival

isn’t easy when there’s no water in

the deepest well.

I blame myself of course, as all

good victims are taught,

occasionally I wish for anger

to cleanse the pain away

even if it left just charred parts

and blackened ruin, it might

be easier to bear than

regret and memories

as potent now as the very day

I let my defenses down and you

walked in, radiant and unafraid.

WE are shelters for the needy

but so often, the Narcissist chooses

the same abode and for those of us

who grew without succor, or enrichment

there is nothing easier than our undoing

at the hands of a cold heart.

If I had a daughter I would never

let her flourish trapped between concrete

I would watch her until she grew

strong and had within her, all it takes

to ward off those who seek only to

bleed and consume what is good

and untainted. Perhaps it is too late

or maybe one day, I will learn

a way to keep growing

not just existing, and it is possible

in time, the scars of you could be

replaced by someone else. If such a

person existed, I cannot fathom, for this

world is often frozen in its

eternal demand for the cruel and

the unkind to conquer

and dance on the

fallen necks of

flowers unable

to keep facing

toward sunlight.

Still.  We.  Exist.

Perhaps in time

we will do more

than simply survive.

Faith

My love

it is so hard to keep

faith

with every day there are changing shades from day to night

sometimes I am comforted by fireflies and evening moth

who dual beyond the porch, betrayed by flicker and swat

I imagine the patterns of her wings, that magic sting of light

so short their lives compared to ours, so rich and meaningful I would infer

sometimes it is the exclusion of pain gives me rest

when I can at last unroll my carpet and forget

carrying the weight all day, a vase of ache absent of flower

to place this nowhere and have it melt away

I lie in the bath and heady steam dissipates reality

in those musings there is only the delight of a girl

seeking her passion in lingered meandered imagining

and you come to me, full of health and unharmed yet

by cruel flint and staunch of your absent conscience

and you lay me down and make of me what you will

a thousand pieces of me broken and rebuilt

which I give with my all, for you were and you remain still

far more than sense can convey

in the hour of day when dreams are gone to sleep

I see the cruelty of your take and take and take

the hunger of your keep and how I was but a thing, in your

cabinet of curiosities to be taken out and squeezed when you

thirsted or when times were hard and you needed the succor of

kindness to tuck you in, nothing of you was sincere or loving

all that I held dear possessed the sound of my own breaking

it was as if I had become pupil to mistreatment

learned many times on illiterate whip of inheritance

children soon become acquiescent to disregard

I didn’t know how to be worthy and you took my pain

pinned it to a velvet card and called me Opodiphthera Eucalypti

my blush and powder, the soft rubbed fur and bleed of color

round and round my pattern and maze, sucking from thistle

the gypsy without, I live in silk and attraction to light

pollinating only the fruit of predators like yourself

as you pinch my wings with your greed and whisper

my lunar, my atlas, spin your silken web across my longing

for I have never learned my worth and you wish to

gobble on my spirit as you may an Autumn apple

the fragrance of your dissection

my love

it is too easy

to stay my life in wait of your call

watching others continue onward and myself find

nothing but the covet and anguish of a prisoner

if I had the strength to

I’d hurl myself against the glass

leaving a smudge of myself in technicolor

for children to press their noses against and wonder

oh what ever life could make such a kaleidoscope

and in these mixings of burning and yearning

parched by want and crushed to nothing

the dancer emerges broken and fragmented

to spirit into night her ether and the longing

she is free of her torment and bound to the wax and wane

of one who has rubbed against and been caught by

a terrible rope, woven with obsidian, the shade of pain

my love

it is too hard to remain

faithful

to your brand of hurt

and live in dying with every pursuit

I have long imagined I am already prepared

for the hour, the moment, pain exceeds its curse

and slipping like oil and water and vinegar bound

we change from solid to infinity and beyond

where only the stain of who we were and what we bore

that burning need to consume, that hunger for

all the poison within your sickening and how

never did you rest until the very perish was wrought

standing still like a girl reaching for

something invisible

my love

it is the fresh unopened rose

and her tightly closed promise

shall see tomorrow and claim

the glory

for I will not be there to witness

this new day and those trespasses for this comforts

me in such a depth as if every kind of anguish

were salved by the knowledge this too shall end

and you will dissolve in time

beyond the fragment of what has been

into the very air like things we cannot yet see

whirling and catching the air in relief

for moths have never lived long enough it seems

to know their beauty and how it is

for us who live sometimes too long

and rise to see another day, alone

Erasure

Unrecoverable

Empty space


Will I go back in time? 

Wet stockings, drying like chapped hands on weazy radiator

Your disapprobation, her disinterest, parents who

Took poorly to the role

And I, their disappointment

Not strictly failure

More a damp root, a smell of mold

Reminding them of empty spaces within themselves

I lay, hot brow, empty handed, slack mouthed, dearticulated by illness

Briefly relieved to be cut loose

And years passed overhead without sound

Tiny dancers on the globe turning time

Until they could not be certain, of ever having had

A child

Nor was I sure, I had been born

Such is the potency of separation

We can remove ourselves to point of extinction

And now I may return, the Archer retracing steps

With fine lines and trembling notion, mangled by distance

They cast every doubt in nets of resentment

No doubt it was a relief not to attempt a role

Illsuited to 

People without need

We forget

Going home is often empty

The best of tales

I fell hard, such is the consequence of a colorful lure

Flickering in shallow water lit by hope

the world was messy, like a thirsty rag soaked with blood

still not gaining sustainence

sickness an albatross, urging me to frail edge

I had yet to learn that words can possess no value

be simply pretty things, we are misled by like Xmas baubles, turned over to reflect pattern

how can a writer realize, words can be emptier than a hollow tree?

people who write them, do so with convincing candor all enveloping like hard sales pitch

it’s impossible to believe they’re just words, without meaning, or worse, deliberate opposite

of truth, that sparten ideal, sucking ice for nourishment

when the wet ass hour comes, and it always comes

those who stay, are not those who wrote long entreaty

not the flatterers, cake-bakers, trumpet players

they are usually the last you’d believe, quiet, unobtrusive leaves coloring your floor

when your loud friends have quit you, it is they who step up and inquire

are you okay? Do you need help?

I learned this directly, as if fed by a poisoned spoon 

the ache of losing louder voices and reward of quiet ones, whom you didn’t believe cared

because you listened for the caucophany and wordsmiths who

know their trade as story tellers, so very, well

and I, who also wrote stories, fell hook, line and sinker

for the best of tales

the one where it’s all about them, and if you fall short you’re out

why it took so long to see, the value of things as they stand

plain in the rain, but firm of foot

is down to the fanciful nature I had

before damp veil was torn off and sickness

cast her long net and kept you underwater without purchase

in that drowning you learned, the only lesson worthy of a mortal

it will not be those who come, bearing gifts, cherry lipped

it will not be those who say; you are wonderful, adorable

it will be the person who seems aloof and speaks volumes

because sometimes a story teller is just that

a teller of stories without depth, milking our need 

they do not stay when you reach out, just the length of the tale

long or short, it always comes to an end and then

they go on to the next book and you are left

dangling with pretty words, tied in useless bouquet

now I don’t know what to call myself

“recovering” of some sort of fairytale lure

and in that recovery I find the simple joy 

of people without tall stories
 

This is to thank so much all those magical folk I did not know would step up and to acknowledge those who spoke loudest and did the least by way of mercy. Each to your own I learned and I grew.

 

Therapy Chronicles; The Upstart

The man- boy with drainpipe trousers

Talks too much

He claims the title of “empath”

And we know

So often narcissists hide behind a kind face

His is transparent and whorls with hipster beard

I hear the rub of his insincerity

Like familiar chaff

How easy to see the game pieces

When from the stage you step back

 

I am tired and old

I am young and quick

I am neither witness nor undertow

But some approximation of emotion

Observing sand-dial without taking turn

Til his upstart urges ego

To fill space with his lust to be seen

 

I let him know

You may have some fooled but I hear you gobble

Fat as Thanksgiving goose

Sucking all the air from the room

Hungry in unsalted desire to hear your own voice

Like a spoilt little boy, thin on holiday treats

And I long to switch you off with a flick

That others may speak and consider

Instead of your incessant bearded drone

Convinced you are humble prophet

why are the least, the ones who believe themselves the most?

Such delusion winds your faulty key

No words can find together to fabricate

The proof of your concave mouth

Slurping sound like a tin penny whistle

 

In years to come you may learn

When you meet a young version of yourself

Less is more

Save the pompous for Charades

Cut the roast, Pat the dog, be thankful for not

Gloating on naught

Mental Health Month Day #17 “Narcissism”

https://mirrorwithoutglass.wordpress.com/2017/05/17/mental-health-month-day-narcissism/

Social Media has spates of trending headlines and buzz-words. Periodically, ‘Narcissism’ will be among them. We know the basic meaning, the mythological story and how a modern narcissist can hurt relationships be they friendships or otherwise. But if we were asked to clearly define the process it might be tricky. That’s because the issue with a buzz-world is we gloss over the deeper meaning, we stereotype it, until we’re using it out of context and it loses the potency of its original meaning.

Thus, you will hear many people calling out narcissists, and in truth, fewer people are true clinical definitions of narcissists than we would imagine. Equally, some of those who labor the point regarding narcissism, are in fact guilty of the very thing they decry.

A narcissist as their core, is someone with low empathy for others, high self-regard, an inflated and delusional sense of self, an entitlement and sense of superiority to others. They can be charming and appear popular and ‘normal’ in some settings, only to be a down-low narcissist, or they can be an overt example. typically a narcissist is considered to have some sociopathy and inability to care for others meaningfully, as well as a belief they deserve more than others and others should act accordingly. Likewise, a narcissist will seek adoration and forms of worship over say, maintaining a give-and-take relationship. If they do something that appears giving it is with the knowledge they will get something in return, thus it is insincere.

Narcissists can also be very successful because they have less quam about their actions, they are confident, bullish, determined and strive for what they believe they are ‘owed’ as well as not being perturbed about the cost of achieving this or the damage inflicted upon others. Some narcissists will play games with people to manipulate them, in this sense they can be also described as sadistic and cruel.

As with any mental disorder, narcissism is on the spectrum and varies a great deal. It is a personality disorder manifested often early in life, and can be controlled, hidden or overt, depending upon its specific characterization within an individual. In other words, one size does not fit all. Typically with any personality disorder, it cannot be completely ameliorated but you can lessen its outcome if you are open to that, which many narcissists will not be because they suffer the delusion of self-aggrandizement.

Most of the time if someone hurts us, and we call them a narcissist they are not. Sometimes when someone calls out narcissistic behavior they are enabling it by their reactions to it. An example would be, if you call someone narcissistic but you do much the same in your own interpersonal relationships with people. It is possible to be  narcissist and not be aware of it.

With varying degrees of personality disorders, it is very hard to definitively say someone is a narcissist because many times you can display narcissistic behavior but not have enough to qualify for the actual personality disorder. With any mental illness it is dependent upon frequency, duration and extent of (symptoms).

If you are in a relationship of any kind with someone who is a narcissist you will expect to experience some of the following;  A sense that you are not entirely worthy of the individual and they feel you are lucky to be with them, difficulty in expressing successfully your perspective and that being understood. It is not as simple as being vain, confident, or even arrogant, narcissism is at the very core of a person’s nature and decision-making process.

Likewise, those subject to the natural manipulations of a narcissist will become versed in how to respond ‘correctly’ to their needs and thus, alter their behavior accordingly. It can take years to re-train yourself out of responding this way to a figure-head such as a narcissistic parent, or lover, and the beating it gives a person’s self-worth and confidence can require a lot of work to re-balance. This is because a narcissist is so confident they convince others they are right, even in the face of common sense. A narcissist parent will rear a child who is always considering the parents needs rather than the other way around, and thus, does not develop fully because they are attuned to the needs of another and not so much, their own.

We have been discussing how judging any mental health manifestation is wrong, and should be avoided at all cost. With Narcissism it is somewhat different. Narcissism, along with Sociopathy, Psychopathy, and other extreme personality disorders and mental disorders, has a poor cure or treatment rate, it often causes a great deal of harm and pain to others, and many who are ultimately imprisoned share these traits. While no good comes from judging, it is worthwhile considering whether becoming close to someone who is unable to treat these symptoms is a good idea, given the likely outcome.

Obviously someone who is a sociopath or narcissist shouldn’t be precluded from having a relationship or a life, but unfortunately in some ways, the damage of their personality can be so bad that it does come to that. Of course I feel some compassion for this, but it is tempered by the fact that someone who is a sociopath or narcissistic does not experience compassion or empathy and simply goes through life feeling they deserve what they want at any cost. Some milder forms that are say, manifested by trauma, can be treatable, but if they are entrenched, it is often a poor prognosis.

I have met some people who repeatedly are attracted to narcissistic types, this is because they learn patterns and unconsciously respond and repeat them without meaning to, because of early exposure to that kind of behavior. You could almost say it was masochistic and it is, though not consciously. It is a little like ‘better the devil you know’ because the familiar patterns of treatment become instilled and it is hard to break the cycle. In this regard, the victims of narcissists are more likely to be seen by mental health professionals than the perpetrators.

Ultimately then when we talk of narcissists we usually refer to the damage they wrought upon others and how best to help those people.

Learning to spot the signs of a narcissistic personality as well as increasing self-worth are the keys to overcoming the damaging cycle. This can include watching for people who only know how to talk of themselves, rarely show interest in others, and if they do it’s very much crafted toward gaining trust to get what you want. This is of course hard to gauge as it can be subtle and most of us have been on the losing end of a friendship with a narcissist.

There is no cure-all but the more self-respect we have, and the greater awareness of being taken advantage of, as well as looking out for people who are self-obsessed, will help us circumvent typical narcissists. This can include setting boundaries, ensuring that friendships are relatively equal (give-and-take) watching for obvious signs such as being self-obsessed, lack of empathy, lack of interest in anything but self, self-aggrandizing behavior, a need to be worshipped and/or continually praised and excessive vanity.

Just as those who are raped as children, can sometimes go on to rape children when they are adults because they are subverted into a twisted parody of their own abuse, and act it out, the same is true with narcissists. The victim of a narcissist will often exhibit narcissistic behaviors also. They will assist without knowing, the antagonism with the narcissist by responding/reacting in such a way that feeds the ego of that narcissist, they will also expect some of the same things their narcissist expects such as attention and adoration. It’s almost as if they learn from their oppressor and take on some of the traits.

This can be ‘fixed’ and is highly receptive to therapy, the first step being, admitting you have done this and wanting to stop doing it.

Breaking the cycle including your own reaction/response to narcissists is key. In some ways if you do not do this, you will aid and abet the narcissist and even attract others to treat you this way, just as you would any addiction. The behaviors are learned and highly addictive as all extreme forms of behavior are, especially if learned in childhood which they often are, such as in the case of a narcissist father and their children. The kids are literally trained into subservience, into blaming themselves as a narcissist will not take blame on themselves and are very good at displacing blame onto their victims.

Learning to be attracted to non-narcissistic people can be challenging when you are taught to be drawn to the magnetic inflated personality of a narcissist. Other people may appear ‘boring’ and ‘bland’ and not push your buttons including your sexual-desire, attraction buttons. It may seem ‘sick’ to be attracted to a narcissist but they are very adroit at becoming attractive enough to gain many followers. this is why narcissists are often in positions of power and/or lead others. They do have a magnetism and charisma that superficially impresses others. Sadly in some cases they are revered and never held to task for their less desirable traits.

It could be said our society is sick for our worship of certain narcissistic figure-heads and we should question the message we are sending by glamorizing narcissistic people in the media en mass. In many ways it is our society that creates a narcissist and certainly, we perpetuate them. What this also means is, we can change that.

Cynthia

1b2e18a4-2778-45ec-9b4d-1bc651889137_560_420.jpg

Let me tell you a story …

once there was an ugly girl, by ugly I mean her soul was desolate of compassion

nobody could see her true make, because she kept her cheeks brightly daubed with grease paint

every so often she’d be provoked and the alabaster devil would crawl out

betraying her neutered joins beneath camouflage

she asked me

BITCH why are you so fucking NICE?

venom dripping from her opaque maw

she could hardly contain her tiny fanged roll of hatred

as if by being merciful I disobeyed natural laws

her hellish countenance, displeasured turn of rule

she was without color, an albino sheltering behind false eye-balls

gathering fruits of her murder, dragging the axe behind

wishing so much to rise it over head and crack my tinted neck

why for some … it is a sport to undo others?

Rorschach of destruction splattered on pavements

I shall never know

she wanted my extinction

eradicate a girl who is not like her

crying; who does she think she is?

challenging the natural order of our dirt filled minds

bent on collapsing compassion

 

why are we suspicious of those who are tender?

as if they must all contain a poisoned dart or

some ulterior motive

it is not so very strange to be considerate

 

she was the butcher’s knife in plain sight

questioning my integrity implying I had some

hidden destination

everyone would rather believe kindness an invention

cruelty the status quo

they joined in their discrimination

sending me out in the wilderness

where I watched them eat each other

the way glinting crows starved of fresh meat

will turn sharp on their neighbor

and I

have been wild ever since

Fur

3d5e44b257578850726dffec1e5af373If we are honest

few things are honest anymore

everything is manipulated or

viewed through a lens

where is truth?

truth isn’t what most people want

not really

if a woman says

do my thighs look big in this?

is she asking for truth? or encouragement?

sometimes truth burns

sometimes it’s like an assault

if you live in the path of truth too long

you become immune to its sting

and nothing can hurt you anymore

but freedom

is not for everyone

 

the truth was

she hadn’t loved me in an eternity

if at all

whilst that felt like acid on my soul

it released the hope

to find another host

someone maybe who wasn’t being lied to

told she was the most beautiful

told she hadn’t aged a day

told she was the only one

how often is that so in a crowded world?

Disney would have us believe

frequently

but love

the real kind that doesn’t like the over-used name

that love is rarer than anything

maybe it doesn’t touch every person

you have to be capable of it

few are

it takes a humility of spirit and a depth

this society doesn’t encourage

 

the only way forward

listen to your gut

the feeling of worms and knives being turned

tells you when something isn’t right

even if others protest so loudly

it splits darkness from night

hold on to your truth

it’s there on the edges of deception

always reflecting never concealing

how easy it is

to believe someone when they say

it will only ever be you

there will be no one else

you are irreplaceable

how easy to want that to be true

 

but we are only savages playing in

high heels and wigs

we are wolves sitting at wooden pews

kneeling before weeping effigies

is it any wonder they cry for us?

we are children licking our sticky fingers

and plundering the honey jar

we are humans without conscience

if we briefly entertain it

soon we’re running in the opposite direction

for it takes the end of ego to

go to war with illusion

far better to sup on the drug that promises

a less sorrowful life

 

who wants to believe they are not

the one who will be loved

the one who will be held dearly

who wants to believe it might not

happen to them?

rather we deceive ourselves gladly

for one toke of the pipe

one last hit

a quick injection of bliss

to believe even as the voice inside says

this is not real

the fantasy, the fairy tale

we grew up thinking showed us

the future

as faulty as a soothsayer

gazing into empty crystal

there are no answers in lies

 

so when she told you

you were everything to her

she omitted the part that came after

unless you’re no longer

in which case another

will in time replace you

and you will walk alone as you

always have

wondering why

your heart was built of

fur

prickling from the

inside

out