Knocked off my rocker
I still like to dance with energy, and move through my world. I hate Trump and his ICE thugs. I always err on the side of kindness if possible. I value companionship and listen as carefully as possible, and always wish I did better.
I'm a romantic at heart but I'm alone. I've had my heart broken for the first time at a relatively late age, though resilience in the face of adversity compounded the damage. In other words, when I fell, I could not get up. I still struggle to get to my knees, and I'm uncertain for many steps when I am first on my feet.
I still consider my ex to be my greatest trauma and biggest failure, even though I survived her narcissism for decades longer than anyone in her life. I ended up in the same junk pile as others she hurt in the end; dumped, blamed and ghosted. This is the pattern with gaslighters—avoidance of shame, guilt and responsibility will be Mina's final edict and absolution.
I believe I am a survivor of a toxic, abusive marriage. If I am in fact still alive, according to my own standards of decency and humanism. I apologize to the people, and the cats and other animals, I've confused by my suffering.
I see her, doing the doggy paddle in the shallow kids' end of the pool. Performing emotional scales once or twice on a scale of 1 to 2. Gone, the same as it ever was. Who is she betraying now? I reach out with empathy to whoever is in harm's way. Not you Caroline—you're a shallow tramp too, and a circus performer. A denier. A promoter of false dreams and a liar. You too Deb. And what's her name in London Ontario.
But real people. Real people with tender hearts and love to share. Sexual beings who desire pleasure shared in equal measure. Intellects and poets like me. Those who never need to slam doors shut to lock others out.
I'm a romantic at heart but I'm alone. I've had my heart broken for the first time at a relatively late age, though resilience in the face of adversity compounded the damage. In other words, when I fell, I could not get up. I still struggle to get to my knees, and I'm uncertain for many steps when I am first on my feet.
I still consider my ex to be my greatest trauma and biggest failure, even though I survived her narcissism for decades longer than anyone in her life. I ended up in the same junk pile as others she hurt in the end; dumped, blamed and ghosted. This is the pattern with gaslighters—avoidance of shame, guilt and responsibility will be Mina's final edict and absolution.
I believe I am a survivor of a toxic, abusive marriage. If I am in fact still alive, according to my own standards of decency and humanism. I apologize to the people, and the cats and other animals, I've confused by my suffering.
I see her, doing the doggy paddle in the shallow kids' end of the pool. Performing emotional scales once or twice on a scale of 1 to 2. Gone, the same as it ever was. Who is she betraying now? I reach out with empathy to whoever is in harm's way. Not you Caroline—you're a shallow tramp too, and a circus performer. A denier. A promoter of false dreams and a liar. You too Deb. And what's her name in London Ontario.
But real people. Real people with tender hearts and love to share. Sexual beings who desire pleasure shared in equal measure. Intellects and poets like me. Those who never need to slam doors shut to lock others out.
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