I know she doesn’t have it
It’s a strange thing
To know for absolute certain
That her deepest connection
Pales in comparison
To my most shallow of interactions.
To know she is surrounded
By a void of empty space
Lacking the wants and needs of others
Beyond a superficial desire to please.
My sister is porcelain
Hard to stain. Easy to shatter.
Things flow off of her skin
Down her limbs and into the earth
Nothing grows where she lands
Her form blocks the sun
Tanned skin absorbing all of its light
I am clay
Harvested from the depths of the river bed
Winding around my childhood home
Forever sullied with its brackish waters
No matter how far removed I become
From the violence that wrought my childhood
I leave pieces of myself behind
Caught under fingernails
Smeared across a cheek
Disolved in the water poured down the drain
Once the artist is done for the day
I decorate living rooms
And bedrooms, and attics
I’m simultaneously larger than life
And all to easy to forget
My sister was glazed and fired
Long before I knew what that meant
Where my body has always been frail
She’s had a life to her form that’s always filled me with envy
Her fate could have just as easily been mine
I could be as beautiful as she is
I am undone
Constantly a work in progress
Put through the wringer over and over
And yet still they are not satisfied.
She envies for me for this
For having their attention
What she does not understand
Is that I do not want their attention
Their presence is more so to my detriment
Than it is my benefit
That most days, I wish that I was her
Well liked and well loved
Surface level niceties I’ve never been afforded
The same ones she often takes for granted
She envies my talent.
My depth
While I envy her beauty.
The kindness to which she is treated
With no expectation of return
But the reception she receives on the daily
Has left her undeveloped
Bland.
In need of experience to return the flush to her cheeks
The light in her eyes.
While I’ve been overdone
Saturated, dripping with ink
Too much pain for too little time
Emotions leaking out of me like a sieve
Clogged and molten over time
In need of digestion, and a few more hours of sleep
She wants to be loved
I just want to be liked.
(I’m not sure which one is more depressing).
7 notes
·
View notes
[1 new report]
S19/Sunnysideup
Today, I met BBH and Chayanne (03). BBH seems to have less knowledge of the federation than chayanne. Chayanne can fly and seems to still do so frequently. Will update with more information.
[message delivered.]
[message read]
thank you.
[added to database.]
4 notes
·
View notes
Child roles created by the narcissistic parent: 2
Child roles (The hero, lost child, scapegoat and golden child), are invented by the narcissistic parent in order to 'divide and conquer'. If the children have no loyalty to each other or trust amongst each other it's easier for the narcissistic parent to continue their abuse unabated. These roles are usually fixed. However, if the narcissistic parent believes that it will benefit them, they can change these roles at will.
Introduction - The Lost Child - A story of recovery from Narcissistic Abuse
7 notes
·
View notes