Stage Fright pt1

 I wonder if this is how Eve felt in the garden when she was speaking with the serpent. It’s so familiar. I am comfortable with him. Staring in his eyes I see a mystery behind the glare. A piece of me needs to believe that he is trustworthy. A piece of me needs to be wanted and desired again. 

A piece of me don’t care if it’s a lie because in this moment it’s true. I’m constantly reliving the past. I see the charm and the smile and I hear the lies yet I continue to allow myself to be spoon fed untruths to a growing appetite of low esteem. 

Surely confidence is non existent because why would I purposely accept  deceit just to be held, wanted, needed, desired, any component that may hint to love. I understand me too well, I just want to be loved. 

Unfortunately, Love don’t want me. At least it’s having a hard time getting close to me because manipulation always seeps through the cracks and I embrace it, relish in it even. While talking to friends they say it will come when you least expect it not realizing that I never expected any of the deceptive suitors. I was minding my business going about my life when they just showed up. 

It’s like I have a pallet for deceitful shark. What does that say about me? Truthfully in all honesty it all feels like a fun game to play. In the end I just flip over the table and move on, no one wins. 
I remember I met this guy, his eyes were enchanting. When he looked at me he was mesmerized. He admired all that he saw and handled me with care. 

The joy that would invoke when we saw each other after being away from each other for awhile was magical. He said all of the right words and offered all of the right comforts. I was his beautiful painting that he just hanged on the wall and admired. Once we decided to move forward to commitment we were both smitten with delight. One day he tried to hang his beautiful painting in a different light, a more defined setting he thought. 

Then he tilted his head to one side and frowned slightly. It seemed that the lines were not as straight as he once thought them to be. He then tilted his head to the other side and found that the color blend wasn’t blended as perfectly as he had seen before. He then decided to paint over the places he found a flaw. The problem with that is he was no painter. 

The one thing that he once admired, respected and enjoyed was now disfigured to him. He no longer wanted it hanging on his wall so he placed it in a corner and allowed it to collect dust. He ignored it. It eventually found itself outside, discarded. 
As with my life. I’m the painting. The forever rejected one. It’s lonely here.