“Every rose has its thorn.” –Guns ‘n Roses
You don’t believe it can be true.
You don’t believe that a person you have put so much faith in, could actually, truly, hate you.
You don’t know what love is, because perhaps you’ve never felt what’s true — goodness.
You’ve only felt the false.
You’ve only felt the lies.
And the narcissist comes in many forms: man, woman, black, white.
Selfish, selfish, selfish.
The N-Word tells you lies.
The N-word says, “Here, here, it’s me who is looking out for you. It’s me who really loves.”
The N-word says, “I protect you. I look out for you. I hold you close. I show you what to trust, and what to fear.”
The N-word says, “I am the right one. The true. The way.”
But at root, my dear, it is all lies, lies, lies.
A black hole, never satisfied. A beast, always grasping, grasping, grasping for its own satisfaction.
It is only the woman, or the man, resting in the shadows, that knows.
Because that woman or man knows, from experience, that the N-word will never have enough of you.
The N-word will never stop, never stop, until you are destroyed, and broken into pieces.
And when the N-word sees, or recognizes, finally, that you are unbreakable, the N-word turns its beastly eyes onto another, or a child, anyone least-suspecting, to get is claws in, to rip apart some other love, and profess to be right.
There is light in this world, my darling, so much light.
But there is also darkness, and there is shadow.
And the wise woman, the wise man, steps back into the shadows, to work behind the scenes with what she knows.
A narcissist can never see light, or hold it, or act in it.
And so the N-word must be trapped, like a mouse.
Trapped, cornered, pegged, over and over again, until the beast…well, let’s just say until.
There is no love in an N-word, and there is no compassion.
There is no safety. There is no growing.
There is only the lie, the lie, the lie, the lie, the lie, the lie, the lie, the lie.
Those who don’t cling to lies are the unassuming, and they sit in the well for a good long while, trying to figure out what they have done wrong. How to fix it. How to be better.
One day, however, my beautiful perfect daughter of heaven (and you can be a man, and also a daughter), you will take your heart in your hands, and see it for what it is.
You will know you are good, and true, and holy.
And you will use that holiness, that goodness, for your own personal ends.
Because now you know your ends are pure. Your heart is pure. You love is the right way.
And you will lead yourself, and others, out of troubled waters.
You will guide everyone away.
You will close the door on the false entity that calls itself love, but is only, and can ever be, a vampire of destruction.
And that is when you know you are whole.