SingersFit

I am wired for eternal connection,
not for temporary superficial ones.
It would be an inconceivable sin,
to let go of that which is.
I do not know how to,
neither do I want.
Why would I,
if this is all there is?
Love.

Silenced.

I am being shut down, stepped on, pushed down,
so vehemently, so violently, so intently, so convincingly,
that I cannot even write what I feel.
I cannot express myself
because I know that anything I say,
which is the truth from the heart,
is weaponised against me.

The same things that before were a reason for connection, magic,
now are a reason for discard, reactiveness,
for calling me the deluded one, the unhealed one, the dark one,
just because I am hurt and in pain due to his actions,
so instead of owning it, he blames me
for not being able to move on.
Guilt tripping me for bleeding
for the stab wounds he has inflicted.
He claims that those who carry pain inside
is because they have darkness inside,
but it doesn’t occur to him that he is the cause of that pain.
How can I be the darkness,
when I am not the one who hurt or betrayed him?
I mirror the parts of him that have been locked away for decades,
and instead of leaning into presence and not performance,
he chooses to lash back and vanish.

My love awakened his guilt, fear and longing for truth,

I stirred his inner child,
I cracked open the walls he said no one could break,

if ever so briefly,
the possibility of happiness,
and he hated me for showing up naive and real.
I never asked him for anything,
aside from just being and going with the flow.

And he didn’t know how to give himself without some sort of exchange,
or trap, as he was used to,
so he called me controlling, manipulative and obsessed,

because he wasn’t used to truth.

He hates being wrong.
If only he could see that it’s not about being wrong or right,
but about accepting and being, going with what is,
he would raise in ways he cannot imagine.
But he is trapped in fear,
by lots of fantastic figures, alien characters, epic battles and entities of the mind
that mislead him into a surrealist quixotic pseudo-reality.

He confabulates his own reality to suit his needs of the moment,
to avoid emotional conflict, which he calls “hassle”,
surrounded by those enablers who perpetuate his delusion,
through adulation and demi-god treatment, which he calls “peace”.

He is so good at this,
that even I question my own self and the truth of what was and is.
More and more I become more fractured, less diligent, more empty,
less eloquent, and with no purpose,
as no matter what I say, it’s used against me.
That’s the illness of control and ego,
so blinding, that not even he can see.
Eerily, he doesn’t realise.

What was beautiful, magical,
has become a nightmare.
Where before he would praise me for my writing,
my talents, my singing, my knowledge, my expression, my beauty,
now he condemns it, calling me false,
and telling me he doesn’t want me to say anything,
no dialogue, no conversation, to just “listen” to him.

Where before he showed tenderness,
now he shows hate, rage, confrontation.
Just by me being, existing.
I have not changed.
Such is my solidness
and the steadiness of my heart.
But he… he has revealed his darkest side.
I miss him, the one I knew.
Was he even real? or just a mask?
What he showed me, did it exist?
Or was it a lie?

He is my purpose.
Despite it all,
when I am in his presence I flourish, I become a budding flower.
Without him, I wither and fade.
How is this possible?
Against what everyone says, against everyone else’s experiences…
How can I bloom in the presence of a monster?

Is it because I know that deep down he’s not a monster?

Not talking
it doesn’t mean it’s over.
Years can go by,
and the connection intact,
even reinforced.

I have written.
Phew.
I had to.

If only just to test that I am still alive.
Or am I?