The Inner Dilemma Of A Child Born To Narcissism
I desire to be wanted,
But am often blind to why I want that.
I was raised by a man who wanted his little boy,
His little toy,
All to himself.
The process of my art has been a journey of not knowing what I want,
What I want to say,
What I want to do.
Feeling both ripped away from home,
But never wanting to go back,
Thinking I can fit the whole world in my pocket.
Secret and safe,
Heaven in a Hellscape,
Shattered glass with shit on the sidewalk for good measure.
I hear the vernacular of a bell,
The Lexicon of noises,
Often wishing music was a common communication.
A paladin one moment,
An assassin the next,
A smile tells you nothing you need to hear.
And I learned this,
Unknowingly gathering inventory of escape,
While I slept from childhood to adulthood.
I thought I was invincible until I wanted to die,
Then I wish I wasn’t but couldn't connect the kill,
I am glad it didn’t, but still.
I’ve got no problem wasting my own time,
I’ve always been caught by my own actions,
But at the same time, why do I keep falling?
Falling, that’s the feeling,
Waiting for slippery fumbling hands to catch me,
As I sink deeper into a pit of my own digging.
A pit of my own choosing,
A pit my father dug beside me,
And the deeper we dug, the less we could hear one another.
As I watch him foolishly keep digging,
I keep trying to claw my way out,
An eternal dialogue in my skull.
My Anger says: “Death is the only solution. You have watched a man become so much less than what you saw back then. Deteriorating from an illness he cannot possibly fight back against by what he has chosen to do with his time, towards his family and friends. Narcissism is a disease just like being a zombie is one, and you will never be free unless you kill the source.”
My Empathy says: “How can you say that when you yourself suffer from the same illness that effects Him? Yes, you had more time, you chose sooner to choose the harder path, to dig up, stupid. But you did it, you’re doing it. You just have to let go entirely.”
“And how do I do that?” My Anger retorts.
“That I do not know,” replies Empathy. “But always start with art.”
Reading the word “start” on our washing machine as a kid trying to learn how to read is one of my first memories as a child,
Which is funny, because I start so many projects,
If only I learned how to finish something.
But there is no completion,
For the son of a narcissist's son now is there,
Just a cycle…
Somehow, people see through all of that,
I wish I could see myself the way that they see me,
Wouldn’t that be a blessing.
I guess my charm is through my deeds,
Though deeds are hard for me to see,
Always wanting attention too soon and so desperate for so cheap.
What do you notice first about a person?
For me it’s a face,
People wear multiple masks.
Great teeth brings a good smile
Round faces that curve features,
Creep curvaceously in my mind.
I am smitten easily,
An instant future imagined,
In a mind so poisoned by hope.
I’ve met a lot of scared mothers not knowing what to do,
Who might sell a soul if they thought it would buy more life,
Thinking it would help ease any suffering.
Twenties truly was a blur,
Be careful of misunderstandings,
Understand that no year is “my year.”
A lone survivor survives alone,
The rocks aren’t glued,
The locks aren’t changed.
My thoughts in a shotgun pattern,
Ultimately pleasing no one,
Including myself.
It’s amazing how your life will turn out,
When you marry the right person,
At the wrong time.
Or maybe vice versa,
Or maybe everything about it was wrong,
But it was the right person to have in your life.
I love that time in my twenties,
When we thought we wanted something,
But course corrected for the better.
The pride I feel to do something he couldn’t,
Still truly love his ex-wife after divorce,
I couldn't be happier of the work I did.
I am a father to children I will never have,
Offering what I can to those who might listen,
Maybe my father one day will.
You don’t know now,
Like I didn’t know then,
But it’s not too late for you.
I was young and had time to learn,
You chose to kept digging and digging and digging,
But nothing is written in the rocks.
I hate watching you suffer while lying to yourself,
What am I supposed to do with that?
What am I supposed to learn from you?
I still grew even when I was poisoned from the start,
You could too,
If you tried.
I have so many questions,
I have so little answers,
I fear so much for how hopeless everyone feels today.
Things feel like they’re spiraling out of control,
But maybe they always have been.
A poison to the mind,
Animals seem to understand their limits of control,
Humans however, do not.
And so the cycle goes…
But I’m just thirty, and maybe I’ll grow out of it,
Maybe I will learn that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,
Or maybe I will give of myself for eternity until I am a stump.
Maybe one day the dilemma will be solved and I can rest,
Either with the knowledge of how to change the world,
Or being content that I will do nothing.
Why do I care about the question?
I have to care because the world is so full of apathy,
And I don’t know if I will become a part of it.
I am terrified I will eventually just stop trying.
But my thoughts should be shared for the artful,
Whoever so inclined to delve into a mind willing to share,
Thank you.
