The Twist

It’s a strange feeling,
aligning with ethical, righteous, and honest…
and being stuck in a hampster wheel of
lies, abuse,
and crazy making of a narcissist.

A lost cause.
Fighting
Defending the real reality,
against the false narrative.

He creates an
outrageous invention
of a persona unknown,
emulating something he truly isn’t
taking everyone he can down with him
into a dark hole of obloquy.

I know the feeling of breaking free,
there is no heartbreak,
only a sense
of escaping a dungeon
that had no light,
or hope in its underbelly.

When I declared my end,
it wasnt heartbreak,
I found serenity and freedom.

Sadly, I am far from free.
And yet, I have been emancipated for years.

The narcissist uses my heart running around outside my chest
like a pawn in his vengeful game.
He is not done with me,
My anguish, is a great resorce of his joy.

My son, my baby, he pulls at him,
like prosessed string cheese,
pulling strands of his truth,
and ripping it from him
to become a moldable compound
he can shape into new fabricated realities.

It’s an ugly tug of war,
demanding the baby chooses him over his meemee.
His mother. His rock.

The narcissist chips away at the mother’s devotion
with pick axes and chisels.
He thinks he’s stealthy, but the outsiders see.
We all see. They all see.
The baby is becoming a man,
and now, he can see.

The jig is up.

Today, the breakthrough arrived,
the sun shown through the boarded up dungeon windows.
They see him in the underbelly
where he twists, triangulates and alienates
with his blatant false narratives.

I’m not crazy, I am right.
We see him for the wretched,
and miserable monster he is,
under skins of another view.

Breaking fetters and chains,
pulling out from the auto play stories of a woman I’ve never been,
I stand up, right, again.

The scales are tipping back.

When one steps back, you see him for what he is
the sad monster,
the small man,
the tortured unhappy soul.
He is afraid it’s a game, and does not like to lose.
There is no game to lose,
because I won’t be a player,
in his fantastical fiction of resentment and anger.
Fighting with honesty, truth
and doing the next right thing,
I don’t need the score,
I just know in my heart
I am still triumphant.

My heart running around wants to run back home
to the embrace of his happy,
with the mama heart open,
magical, and full of adventure.

The twist will not thwart my resolve
to stand in my truth,
and hug my big baby man again.

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