Identity

I am not a sex crazed artist.
That’s just not me.
He tried to turn me into his Fantasy
And I need to turn him in.
Sometimes doing the right thing is so very difficult

My sister likes that my fire has returned. I am me again she says. But I also need to be aware of how I cut people off she says... from helping me.

To protect them from me?
This is too too much

He, A monster, she says, from the beginning...

I am not what he has made me out to be
I am walled and protected in my transparency.
I am glass
these walls are made of glass
These walls are made of me

Alone
I have faced so much and felt I was supposed to
why?
the layers of the onion
when I get to the center I will find nothing
so why keep peeling back the layers
that are making me cry
so very much

Broken
again
and
again
why?
a child
Please please let me be the adult
and release me from this fantasy
talk with me
I am not so scary
unless you want me to be

these walls are made of glass
and easily broken
please
help me understand
so I don't have to turn you in
for breaking the walls you were supposed to leave.
-your demolition crew got carried away and then walked away...
no more negative stigma from the team whose job it is to fight that
Please

whatever it needs to be

....writing just for me
already over 80

logic suggests

My logical, rational brain
Knows now, understands why people don't want to turn in what they know is not right, when they have been treated wrong.
They want to believe that they are special.
They irony, the double edged sword, maybe even the hypocrisy? is that if one does turn someone in and they really were "special," "the only one" they will forever feel that they have just betrayed that magical mystical fairytale fantasy of just "the one."
Is this the conspiracy of Hollywood, fairytales and Walt?
Is this the bigger bad I am struggling to understand?
He won't talk to me, and it is not to protect me, it is to protect himself. But his job was to help me and put my wellbeing first, he is obligated to legally and ethically, but I became his fairytale fantasy or another token in his collection of games. I am not a token and I do not belong on his proverbial shelf, waiting for his disposal, his next play.
Dr. Concussion, you too? part of the game. to tell me I'd be better served somewhere else and promise to help me find a new team only to abandon that because you can't find anyone yourself. You, the doctor in the industry can't find a fit for me? But somehow I am supposed to, when I have voiced this as my struggle and my concern, I have told you? You are the right place and the right fit from my own research. This makes no sense.
their is something pathological to this and it might not be me

Masks

Hoping to be noticed
Not wanting to be seen
or
Hoping to be seen
without being noticed
What kind of masks do you have in your invisible wardrobe?

Countertransference
Feeling your own pain
Is confusing your brain