The best servant wields empathy
and refuses it in return.

"Do not come" says the master
"I will obey" though it pains me thinks the servant.

The master continues on with a smile
The good servant shares it.

you don't quite fit
slightly askew
yet, relatable.

I see You.
A person revealing herself to a soceity of weak wolves
You are curious; a truth-seeker
asking questions that make others squirm
You have a deep desire to connect through expression
a need to be seen
You wish for transparcy paired with acceptance
You want to tear yourself open and scream "Look!"
"This is Me! Please, see Me!"
"In all my beauty and in all my ugliness. This, is, Me. Unfiltered. Naked"
"Please, please accept me."
I know this because it is
Relatable.

Relatable. The only way you would know this
is if I told you.
For I have found a way to blend in with the wolves.
I hide behind a careful wall built of cloth and filth.
You can only see Me when and where I allow it.

My face is usually in plain view, for society has told me this is OK.
(Ironic that is my only bit of skin that can change expression, unwillingly)

My other skin is hidden by clothe that I willingly bear.
A winter coat and gloves for the environment unknown.
(possibly hostile. it's better not to risk exposure)
A T-shirt and jeans for the familar
(stragically covering vunerabilities)
A bathing suite only for the most trusted

And naked? Rarely do I allow this, even around myself.
Because when I am naked all I see is the bruises from past abuses.
When I opened myself up and was rejected
Rejected by society and myself.

All the bruises bring me to bear cloth
But I will sincrely root for those who walk around
Naked.

I'm safe here
My past is not It's full of you.
Tainted. Sad. Unfair.
I liked those memories.
I held them close
I did not see I was being deceived
By you. By me.

Examples of this pulse through these memories
And it sticks to my chest and my hands as I try to push them away.
No, OK? NO.
You will not take these memories away from me.
I will not rid myself of them
They are mine as much as yours.
And I don't know what I'm doing or saying
But I do know.

I'm safe here
And so is my future.
It's void of you
Except in memory.

And you may say it doesn't have to be this way
And you may say this is an overreaction
And you may be right
But why would I put my future memories in jeopardy?
Your endorphin dose, no matter how strong is not worth
The risk. The pain.
I'd rather error on the side of caution
Because what am I losing? The love of a friend?
I never had that anyways.

And you may say that our relationship is different
You may say "I'm trying to change! I need you!"
And I'll say "good luck."
And mean it. And walk away.

And you may say that you don't care
And I'm prepared to never know if that is true.

Being around someone prone to deception is choosing to receive a type of mental illness. What the victim knew as reality shifts to what the deceiver wants them to believe. Once a piece of the deceit is uncovered and reality shines through, the deceiver repents and says he will change. This brings the victim back into his deceit. Now, he is a wiser deceiver, for his mistake was revealed. He will avoid that mistake in the future. His victim plunges deeper into insanity.

Hey, I. Umm.
What & Why? I thought.
Betrayed? Slightly.
Yo, it's fine. Small. But umm.
I'm here. Vulnerable.
Did you notice I'm vulnerable?
Should have been safe. Want to be
Vulnerable. It's NBD. But.
Scares. Me.
Don't need much, really.
(should I need anything?)
But communicate. Somehow
Your thanks. and.
Some sort of protection from the outside.
Otherwise. Being vulnerable around you
Will end.

This is your paper
This is your ink
It's for you, because you demanded it
You aren't here.
But your power is
Because I've given it to you.
You demanded the power
And hid it so well.
Congrats, you won
I didn't even notice.

This is my time
This is me.
It's not for you.
I'm taking it back
And I can't while you're around
But I'm ready
To be ready
To leave.

I'm confused
But I shouldn't be
I know I shouldn't be confused
In this, I am not confused.
Because caring about another human being
Is the most BASIC
The most basic
Component of a friend
And, well.
That's not there
YOU'RE not there
I have been.
I wish you were, too
And I'm ready
To be ready
To accept that

I don't have the self control
Needed to stay
My sanity suffers
And I suffer
I'm sorry if this hurts you
I really am
Because I'll always love you
No matter what. I've told you this
And this is where I'm torn
Between staying close close
And loving myself
I can't do both

Because,
I love people for who they are
And I'm too fragile to surround myself
With anyone who doesn't
So I'm ready
To be ready
To say goodbye

If I were to draw me
If I were to paint me
If I were to create a physical representation of me me

I would draw a dancer
One who seems in control
Like she has it together
Like she has full command of her movements, of the floor, of her partner, of the music
She knows what she is doing and she is doing it well
Her partner trusts her
The floor trusts her
She does not trust her
She is making it up as she goes
But she knows she is making it up wrong
But they can't know that.

I would draw a child
full of insecurities
Full of rebellion
Full of doubt - in herself; in the world
A black hole for love
A vessel of fear
But they can't know that either

I would draw me as a kind warrior. A commander
as I step into an imaginative reality that is aided by games, by friends.
I am confident there.
My mistakes are large, but there is nothing real to lose - we can always try again.
My compassion is a rare gem, noticed by any who get close enough to look
(mainly jagged rocks are seen in these seas)
The friendships are Real. And I am too.

I would draw myself as a child.
At least, that is how it would look at first
I would be standing next to a man, my dad.
Upon looking closely, one would realize the man is the child.
And the child is the adult.

I would draw myself as a mom
Picked by her kids. Chosen. Looked up to.
Seen as cool, wise, infallible. A great mom. One full of love.
They would only be right about that last part
And they would only be right about that last part sometimes