I wrote this poem the other day. It's a bit intense and kinda came out of left field. It was based on some people from my past that someone in the present triggered memories of.
This is How I love You
By Amy Frank
Flighty. My heart pumping.
Anxiety rising. Fear. Apprehension.
I care what he thinks.
I seek my worth through his words.
Am I good enough?
Tell me.
Am I too hard?
Too soft?
You decide, for I, I am nothing
without you.
I am a shell.
I am clay that needs your strong hands
to guide me.
I want your fingers to run over me,
pressing,
pushing out my edges,
shaping me,
making me,
into whatever you desire.
Am I a cup?
Can I hold you?
Hold your tears and your anger
as you slam me carelessly
back onto the table.
Your own creation.
Your countless hours of
meaningless love.
Feeling me,
sculpting me,
bending me,
forcing me,
just to smile and discard me
when I crack.
My worth does not depend on you.
I was foolish to let it.
To be such an empty shell
that you could make me into
your fantasy,
never caring who I was.
Don’t worry, I get that part,
I’ve done similar.
I’ve taken bodies and faces,
twisting them into delusions.
Creating characters who never were
and never will be.
Is that our destiny?
I make believe that you are love and light
and I become your fixation.
If this is to be our fate
then may we collide
so many times
that we fuse.
Losing the boundaries of you and me,
becoming we.
I will be your clay
if you will validate me.
I will let you shape
my emotions and mind
if you allow me to glaze over
your manipulation
and make you shine.
This is how I love
a narcissist.