Dear Narcissist

The truth is

I drank your poison

For so long that it

Seeped into my bloodstream

Until it was coating my

Fingertips too

(The monster I became

Wasn’t as bad as the

Monster who created me)

❀

For so long I was

Choking on bitter jealousy

Because your manipulations

Drew people to you in a way

That my empathy never seemed to

❀

You told stories about me while

I revealed the truth about you

Yet even knowing what I did

I kept letting you in the front door

❀

I was the kind of person who

Believed in redemption

The type of person to

Hold onto the good things

With both hands, even if

They were wrapped in snakeskin

And taped to an animal trap

Even if they sounded exactly

Like a siren’s singing but

Isn’t that the exact archetype

Of a narcissist’s victim?

Isn’t that why you kept

Accepting my invitations

To come inside and

Eat at my table?

❀

It is time the world hears

About your true colours

About the ugly shades

That don’t blend quite like

The paint in the picture you

Present to your audience

❀

You held kindness

As a murderer holds a cloth

Not for a bandage, but to

Silence the screaming

(Can you really call

That compassion?)

You should know

I don’t owe you

An ounce of gratitude

For your “kindness” when

It was only another weapon

In your arsenal of manipulations

❀

You placed antiseptic

On all my wounds because

Doesn’t a ruined canvas

Look so much more satisfying

When it was once intact?

(I won’t let you take credit

For my destruction)

❀

Your apologies were

Rain in a drought

Which is to say

They were few and far between

And welcomed by a starved person

Who clung to hope like a lifeline

❀

Selfishness has a face

And it is yours

(Hazel eyes and a

Deceptive mask)

❀

I spent a shameful

Number of years

Discarding dignity

And accepting blame

That was not mine

Just so I could call you a friend

(Don’t we all call our abuser

Something affectionate in the beginning?)

❀

I watched you stoop

Lower and lower and

Claim that my hands were dirty

(I guess it was from digging my own grave)

❀

I was the kind of person

Who always looked over

My shoulder at the

Things I left behind

The kind of person who

Always came back

Who always took

A knife to the gut

With an alarming amount of calm

And a saddening level of

I-saw-this-coming

The kind of person who

Would protest at the pain initially

But then say

“I’m sorry, I should have bled less”

❀

I am the person

Who knew who you were

And held out my hand anyway

Because don’t we all deserve

A chance to atone?

❀

I am the person

Who witnessed you

Paint over your flaws

Instead of trying to fix them

❀

I am the person

Who said sorry

Like it was a greeting

And tried to tell myself

It was okay that you

Hardly said it at all

❀

I am the person

Who gave up on you

Who finally gathered

Her self-respect and

Self-preservation

Into her arms and

Walked away

(For the last time)

❀

You crossed

A million lines

But the last one

Was a cliff face

❀

(You are dead to me)

❀❀❀❀❀

Author's Note: Thank you to all who supported this series. All your reads, likes, shares and especially your comments were really appreciated. It was upsetting to realise just how many people could really relate to this but since it was incredibly theraputic for me to write, I'm hoping it was somewhat helpful for you to read. Whilst this will be the last poem in the Dear Narcisissist series, I'm sure there will be future ones with very similar themes. You can find the rest of the series below and please check out more of my work on my author profile.

With love and magic,

Poppy❀

❀❀❀❀❀

The Rest of the Series:

(Does not need to be read in chronological order)