"A dweeb, a Dorkzilla of a narcissist, who thought he was a peacock, a man with an ego his face could not sustain, like an 80 year old Italian woman with dyed hair, white loafers, and saccharine sayings that belied his baseless vanity. She liked them ugly, clown shows of people, just like before. Another man who craved possession ... life-sized Hot Wheels, who’d swept in just in time to use her emotions surrounding her father’s death against her. A man she had nothing in common with but a...
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No man in love would agree to hide it from anyone.
And, if she asked it of him,
Then she was not his.
The complete story painted a different portrait than the one people had simply believed from her mouth, contrary to the evidence, contrary to common sense, and with no real investigation. It was proven in black and white that his side was truer than hers. He had everything she thought he would never see. But she continued to tell her tale of vengeance, whatever flash of conscience had overtaken her being short-lived and dying. She had told so many lies that it became incumbent upon her to lie...
Though her stories were inconsistent on their faces and those in charge did not have the evidence to make the charges they did, the great bastion of incompetency and power abuse determined that he would take the entire rap. It made no difference to them that she had made easily-demonstrated false statements. It made no difference to them that she had filed similar charges before against someone else, if they even knew of them or bothered to look. HR completely and premeditatedly ignored all...
Though he ignored her as best he could, she refused to let him. Though the missives stopped, the touching continued. She would call him into conversations and put him on the spot in front of others. She would smile and wave to him. She later claimed that it was only because she didn’t want work to be awkward, but she had made it so, putting him in a situation in which he did not know what she wanted. The demands for attention increased. She became angry at his lack of attention towards her,...
This is how it happened, the full story, not the scraps sold as truth by a self-interested heart. These are the parts told but unheard, unaddressed, unheeded by those who believed and still believe what was and is most convenient for them. It is a story of unfairness and self-serving lies, of heartbreak, and of conformity to a world without a soul. It is the story of the death of trust and the murder of love.
He had not wanted her. He had found her annoying and cloying, too interested in...
Three years ago I gave you my friendship …
In lieu of my heart that you didn’t want.
And you shat all over it,
Bade to treat me as an imposition by whispering fools,
Telling you I was not good enough, insane even.
I had only followed your lead.
So I took it back, but you would not accept that either,
Leaving me only the choice between nothing and nothing,
With no idea what you wanted.
But you kept on shitting on me, and kept on,
And keep on, though you have no basis for your vanity.
I was yours...
She didn’t care about the sincerity,
About the truth, all the words of woe.
She only read the things she’d misinterpret,
To reap pity from the narrative she sowed.
There is only one way to truly heal, requiring the swallowing of ego,
The recanting of horrible things, and the cessation of animosity.
It requires admission of wrongdoing.
It cannot be done through faith, when one is not even honest with one’s god.
It cannot be achieved with forgetting—there is no running away,
For the heart remembers all things.
It cannot be attained through distraction, nor false love as a substitute,
Dating those who are horrors walking, hidden by sly gestures, dishonest...
Those you chose are like NFL players. Anyone really into the sport watches college, because there they still have to play, have to try. But, once they make the big time, with the big paydays, they hardly ever really play, afraid of getting hurt and losing their trough. It’s all merchandising , attitude, and million dollar hype that drives it. It’s all concessions. And now college has been infected with the same lassitude.
Like the major players, those you choose do not strive for love, for...
Did they insist on the “other” halftime show,
The one with the fake Christians who are driven entirely by money,
Led by one who faked a marriage to get her grubby hands on the reins?
You likely know that motive well.
If so, then you know what you associate with now,
And there is not a true heart among them, not an honest soul,
Sickos, perverts, and bigots are your people, though you claim piety.
But you always claimed what was not true,
A true heart for animals,
A lover of children,
An love...
Chapter 2 from Sins of Isis (formerly We Never Talk About It)
Mother and son were separated.
In the young man’s room, the man in the green hat forced the boy to sit on his bed and smacked the defiance off his face. Lucas had never been slapped that way, and all of the fight left him like an ice cube melting on hot asphalt. The room was immaculate, and it was clear that Lucas was not the person who cleaned it. There was a television and game console, along with sports trophies going all the way...
She’d treated him as if he were beneath her, worthy of insincere pity, but, following what she was bid by those who told her what to think, he was worth nothing else … not worth her. She was too good for him. She was too mature, too important, too important for a man who did not have what she was used to, did not live up to her ideal of what a man was supposed to be, a mature man. It mattered in no way that he had, essentially, raised himself and his brother. It made no difference that he,...
Why?
Was someone kicking in my fender not enough?
Was driving through my yard and hedge not enough?
Were your fake friendship and lies not enough?
Was this necessary, even after I let you go?
Of course it wasn’t you, you say.
But you provided the impetus, and apparently still do,
Like you unwittingly spurred some fraud to frame me with that one horrendous email,
Never connected to me, as I never sent it.
No, you didn’t have to tell them to. You gave them enough incentive with your self-pity,...
You should go back,
Look at all the words that were exchanged.
They’re still there.
Read the words you sent,
But not with the eyes of hate,
Feelings of what you felt obligated to say.
Leave the lies and a misguided choice behind.
Read my words again,
And see me for who I was.
See yourself as you presented yourself.
Remember your uninitiated missives,
The grief I had experienced.
Remember I loved you.
Remember how you were not honest.
There is no way to make you see, that you have never been fair to me.
Cast away, seen as dishonest and boring in my protestations,
Dismissed, unworthy of any further consideration,
Just a no one, obsessed with, in your eyes, rewriting what occurred,
In your estimation, only a small man that your heart has never heard.
But you know my cause is true as rain, as real as fallen leaf,
And that is why you betray me still, forever ignore my grief.
You see my world as unreal, dramatic, and...
If there was no reason to care on her side,
Then there was no reason to care on his side,
And, as she chose to misunderstand and mock him,
So he knew that everything he thought about her now was true-
No heart, no spine, no integrity, no honesty, no capacity for love,
Only an incessant urge to land a big fish.
So he would pay it all back with his pen.
Possible new MS. Not sure I want to let it see the light of day. Very dark, very complicated treatment of taboos and psychology.
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In an upper-middle class neighborhood that could have been anywhere, full of deciduous trees, manicured lawns, and quaint but expensive houses, a black Ford Explorer with understated but official-looking markings crept down a quiet road and parked next to the curb at a corner and under a...
Oh to think!
Just a little more clout … a bit more greed on the part of some of those wonderful men you know,
And you could have been with one of the infamous island crowd. Yes, that island.
Maybe you were, or are, but they simply were not big enough fish to be named.
But you know they would have been there if offered that shot at the deranged.
You know what they are, behind the semblance of upstanding. You lived it.
You know their caliber of perversity, but, if you haven’t let yourself recognize...
You should have loved him.
There was no purer heart.
But your heart was not pure,
And you chose to strike him down with a bolt of ice,
Followed by the flames of vindictiveness.
There will be no more gifts that mean anything,
Only those with a price tag to give them worth,
Imbued only with shallow motive and banality.
You left him worthless.
But what worth did you leave yourself?