Ode to the Narcissist By Lisa Marie Annecharico You…a rose, a bloom so large, bright, and brilliant lit by the sun. A scent that filled my very being. I was blinded by the glorious wealth of love that I could not see the underlying thorns. You offered your rose. I grasped the stem hard, the thorns burying deep into my skin. The blood seeping out of me slowly. My life unto the floor under your feet. You sloshed though the puddles without a care. Scattering droplets of me everywhere until there was nothing left. Over time the brilliant rose, its flower fading, petals dying, browning, and turning to dust. All I was left holding was a stem of thorns so deeply embedded into my hand. Letting go, ripping the thorns from my flesh. Awaking the wounds. Scars that healed over so thickly trying to protect which was broken. Oh the pain…the pain! Ripping away something that I had allowed to become a part of me. Something I never thought I could survive without. The constant ache of holding that in my hand had finally become too heavy and I have finally let go… My hand…me. I am healing. Your thorns have left scars, reminders… I will never grasp another stem of thorns no matter how beautiful the flower. I will see the thorns under the brilliance. I will smell the secret ordor of despair under the sweet flowery smell. I have learned to be aware that not all is as it seems. I have learned to protect my hand, my heart, my soul.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Jun 2014 20:02:17 +0000