Well… here we are again.

I went out for drinks at the local pub,
thinking maybe I wouldn’t be invited
because you’ve been happier with other people.
And I know you’re happy with them…
but I feel like a dog chained to a post,
no sign of its owner ever coming back.
Left behind by you. Again.

I’m sad. I’m angry.
But more than anything
I’m numb.
Numb to what I give,
numb to what I am.
Because you’ve shown me, time and time again,
that I contribute nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

I’m useful when it suits you,
and invisible when it doesn’t.
Used when it’s convenient,
discarded when it’s not.

My chest aches like a wound,
a pain that refuses to heal.
Do I really mean nothing?
Am I even anything at all?
What worth emotional, monetary,
Do I hold in your eyes?
Maybe something,
Probably nothing.

You’ve shown me in your absence of care.
And now, worse
You’ve crossed a line.
That I thought friends at least
Would never cross

You hurt me. Physically.
I showed my best friend the bruises.
The one person I trust most in this world.
They were outraged.
I cried into the phone
as their voice cracked with anger for me.

And I am terrified
terrified you’ll do it again.
Terrified the bruises will grow into something more.

Maybe that’s all I am to you
a bag to be punched.
A thing to dig your nails into until I bleed.
A stool to climb on,
a vessel to pour your relief into.

Every time I ask
to share something,
anything as simple as a film,
or a meal,
you say you’re busy.
Already have plans.

But then I see you.
See you watching a film,
ordering food
with someone else.
Someone new.

And I’m done begging.
Done giving willingly,
When I only see you in scraps,
in borrowed moments,
in the silence between your excuses.

I’m mourning a loss
That hasn’t even been buried yet.

I’m close.
So close to walking to the river,
Again.
To swim into the void,
to sink into the end that should have come
long ago.

These last few years
the best and the worst
will have been my everything.

And maybe in my absence,
you’ll finally gain something.
Maybe then,
I’ll have been worth… anything at all.

Maybe…

The storm washes the syllables away,
crashing against the walls we built,
until only what we carry within remains.
My hands close around the bars.
I cannot be closer.
I cannot be farther.
That is the essence of restraint:
it separates.

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain asked.
Am I the keeper of your prison? I ask.

Keeper—
a beautiful word.
To keep someone:
is it to watch them through bars,
to toss them a little mercy,
or to ask instead: why bars at all?
If I were the Keeper,
I would tear down your prison,
refuse to accept that you are captive—
even if the whole world were nothing
but a prison.
The role given to me
would not change what I am.
I would ask nothing in return,
not because of you,
but because of me.

It’s something you won’t find
in lexicons or lessons.
It is either there, or it is not.
Where it comes from—
soul, blood, or memory—
I cannot say.
But it feels as if I swallowed a star
I once was,
and now it burns inside me.
Every word I speak
passes through it—
along a starry path, like Nimród.
I do not walk in the light.
The light walks in me.
Every contradiction holds a truth.
I carry them all.

I blindfold myself.
I place you on the scales.
If you weigh more than a feather,
I let you go—
to rise as you will.
I am not your judge,
not your executioner.
I am the Keeper
of truth, of freedom, of myth.
There is a silent verdict.

But you—
you would watch me
through the bars.
You would keep me,
instead of being my Keeper.
You love freedom,
if it’s yours to have.
You love control,
the sweetness of vulnerability.
You would not lift me up
to where you stand.
If I found a little light in my cell,
you would come at once
and claim it as yours.
But what if I carve the walls
with ink—only of you?
If every brick were a fragment of you—
would you tear the walls down then,
just to keep it for yourself?
So I could show you
how it feels
to choose to stay.
And we build the altar of ruin,
again.

Narcissistic Deception
Us against the world, I can't believe I was so naive.
Even when I knew better, you still led me to believe.
While I thought about not having to say goodbye,
You were only thinking about “Me, myself, and I”.
You left me when I needed you most.
You said you loved me in all the pictures you did post.
I thought you would always be there for me.
I’ve always been struggling more than you can see.
Even after everything you did, I love you more than ever.
I could never leave or betray you, no, never.
You thought buying presents for me would make me forgive you?
Being there for me is a better thing you could do.
I rarely even had one real friend,
All I could do was pretend

After  years  of  you  giving me the silent treatment                                                        ­                                          if  no  one  calls  I  think  it's because  of a disagreement                                                     ­                             Because  of  your consistent  lack  of communication                                                    ­                  sometimes  when  I talk, I forget people are listening                                                        ­         Convinced I am never enough or  I'm too  much                                                        ­                                                I overdo for others in hopes of earning their love                                                             ­                                                     Under your  sense of grandiose entitlement                                                      ­                                                      I've  put myself last and under your judgement                                                        ­                                                    With persistent efforts to  disrespect me                                                                                                                          I  over explain and apologize habitually                                          I've  accepted bread crumbs of your affection                                                        ­                                             a love  concocted of toxin and poisonous venom

Not Your Students

In classrooms cold where chalk once sang, A silence fell that bruised, then rang—Not with words, but with the stare, The kind that strips you standing there.

You raised your hand, a hopeful reach,
But hope was not what they would teach. Instead, a smirk, a cutting tone—
You left that room more skin than bone.

Then home, where love should be a balm, became a storm disguised as calm.
A voice that picked at every seam,
Till you forgot your right to dream.

“You call that clean?” “You think that’s smart?” “I’ll do it myself” was the remark. Each word a dagger masked as art. Too loud, too late, too much, too thin— No place outside, no peace within.

Their love was weighed in harsh critique, A scorecard life, a twisted streak. You shrank to fit their brittle mold, While they stood proud, and you grew cold.

And still you moved through every day,
A ghost in roles you couldn’t play.
The teacher, spouse—they wore their masks—While you were buried under tasks.

But here you are, still breathing deep,
Though night has stolen countless sleep.
Your truth is not a whispered lie—It grows each time you dare to cry.

One day, the mirrors will not lie,
And you will see the reason why
The ones who break us hide their shame— Because you carry all their flame.

Let it burn, and light your name.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

she is a narcissist
you can find her at 9 o’clock on tuesday nights,
taking photos in front of a full length mirror,
trying to find a spark of beauty in a life that is more bland
than bread without butter, people without mouths, mouths without words
(words outside mouths)

words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them
they are not always hers
she stole them from the magazine she reads on sundays, the one that keeps her distracted
because monday is back to the real world
(school means enemies)


she doesn’t make enemies, she chooses them
she speaks to a boy once and has a bad impression
and for the next three years he somehow manages to make her angry
she hates how he looks, how he talks, how he walks
how he beats her in an election of popularity
he doesn’t know he’s her enemy, but she doesn’t care
(if sharing is caring, she will not even breathe the same air as him)


air isn’t hard to come by, everyone she doesn’t like has a head full of it
everyone she likes also has a head full of it
the difference is that half think she’s crazy, and the other half are crazy
she has pride in herself
(that’s what everyone else thinks)


she has daytime insomnia, except
instead of not falling asleep, she can’t stay awake
in a world of people who think shallow water is safer and
shallow minds are better
it drives her crazy to think of romantic love
(she wants it but i guess she can’t have it)


her life is divided by the color of lockers
the yellow lockers of her first middle school, the good years, when she was admired by everyone
she was smart and charismatic
and she was happy in only a way that a
bee that has never lost it’s stinger can be
(innocent children always change)


the red lockers of a second middle school, full of memories she hopes to forget
the building where she first learned hatred and hopelessness and how you can never take happiness for granted because there will always be someone to take it away
(she was angry at her parents for their uninspired decision to move)


the blue lockers of high school, the idea of which kept her going all through the red year where she almost let go of the thin, little, fraying string of a balloon, keeping her barely out of the reach of the sharp nails of the devil’s paradise
she ran into blue as she ran away from red’s angry arms, crying for help, crying to be saved,
and she was.
she saved herself.


in blue she found herself away from the miserable creatures red produced, and she could never put a pin quite on how it changed
but she fell in love with feeling clean, and she started to look pretty
she pulled herself together and woke up each day grateful for the blue lockers that lined the halls of her high school
(she worked hard to be narcissistic)


she believed she found euphoria
she trusts in herself now, but
only because she trusted everyone at the beginning
(and no one in the middle)


her life is divided by the color of lockers
when she sees photos of the blue of her new school,
she is reminded of the yellow where she was so happy and
the red where the walls of the school mirrored what she saw everytime she closed her eyes
her mind is a board game, divided
by emotional reasoning
(i read an article that said that’s dangerous)

I sit and wonder what life would be like if I was a narcissist?
Would my flesh feed on manipulation or feel guilty when I walk over ppl
Feel satisfaction when I lure them in with my compliments and trap them in my web of lies
I be joker and they be my fool
Get them attached
Have em confused,
torn to pieces
Make sure they stay depressed.
Rub my hands like bird man keeping their head a mess
Overthinking
I’m lowkey smiling
Their sorrows continue to be a gift I cannot name, A twisted comfort in this cruel game to feed my ego
Thrilled to pick their brains like a picky eater at dinner pick them apart until they become what I like
Walk around collecting hearts like eggs on easter
Just so I can bruise em up and eventually break em
Then watch em put themselves back together again
Laugh at their pain
Hold them like a puppet in my hands
Connected souls and I control the strings
As I sing these sweet nothings in their ears telling em all the things just for fun
As they dance my voice becomes a sounding alarm
Hypnotizing,
on the count of 3
I snap and they run
Grin as they obey everything that I want done
Would I give a **** that I’m ruining the lives of these beautiful ppl?
Or would I laugh at the selfish gain
continue to **** the life until nothin is left but a corpse and their left walking this earth empty with nothing left to give
How would I live?

Like **** I hope.

I see her
The way she stands
The way she smiles
It angers me.

Why won’t she listen
Why won’t she quit
She’s mine and should-
Always listen,

It makes her think I’m cruel
I’m cold and incapable of love
But I gave her all and everything I had
I install her with fear, for the world-
And all that’s around her
I truly love her, but wished she’d disappear.

She wants to make her own decisions
Fine go be your own grown up
And find out the world can’t take you
You’re too much until you’re too little
She’s the thread, and I keep pulling
Why does she want to leave…

They’ll eat you alive
I’m just trying to help
Even out of spite,
So when she breaks-
At least I warned her
She’ll never make it alone.