I’m denied

Exploring emotions

All the things I was denied, whoever offered some version of it (real or imagined) would find themselves king.

It was like being offered water in a dessert.

Little did I know. The one offering and the one denying were the same person. How else would they get access to so much power? How else would they press me to the corner?

Thief pretending to bring back what they stole. Me on my knees, offering my very life because I’m so grateful.

A part of me knows the offer is a lie yet I believe if I give everything, they’d keep their word. They never do.

I keep handing over the little that I have. Just a little more and this time would be it. Just a little, until I’m left with only bones to give.

When does it stop?

I cannot fathom being denied. I ignore it and pretend I’m doing just fine. I pretend I never needed what is being denied anyway. I keep upbeat as I convince myself, no harm was caused.

Protecting myself and the denier.

What would I have to do if I admitted they denied me what was rightfully mine? What happens then?

Why does hurting them hurt?

Maybe because hurting them doesn’t fix the fact that they didn’t care enough to give what was mine. They didn’t care enough to not steal.

That eats at my very identity.

It becomes all about me. At least that way, I get to handle it. It becomes all about me and what I might be missing. A drug I’ve been taking since I was a child.

Spot the missing parts. I get better at that game each day. Because, because .. it hurts more to be perfect. It hurts more to be loveable. It hurts more to be cared for.

It’s excruciating to look at what I’m good at.

Maybe because in a short space of time I’d be proven so wrong, I’d have to go back and hide in a hole.

Thembeka