The Projectionist: A Poem

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I ran after your body, trusting the idea

Of addiction, in love with my projections,

Misguided, erasing the harmfulness in front

Of me, seduced by the creations of my

Imagination that rendered you bearable,

Desired, and I closed my eyes and trusted willingly.

 

I stuffed your body with narratives that I

Longed to hear since I had been a little girl,

I had that thirst still, I thought I needed a cure,

A counterpart, (you were just the same), to make it

All disappear, to make it all real and better, I wrote

Line after line in my head, tattooing it on your skin,

A map for my hands to not realise the pain that was promised.

 

You saw my blindness, my wandering around in my

Own images of you, you absorbed and dedicated yourself

To the illusion of you, my delusion, so you could come out

And play, so you could do what you do, feed the hungry,

 

Feed the deprived, empty yourself, leaving traces in bodies,

Appearing in all the narratives, spreading, you, spread, across

Legs, you touched them all, claimed the price, you let me be,

Walk straight into the trap that I helped to build, and exhausted

 

Yourself, exploited without the word, not setting the record straight,

You fell in love with that forged image of yourself that I projected

Onto you to get close to you and myself, to feel alive, whilst you

Drained me of my visions, discarded the truth that I refused to seek.

a photo of a woman feet on white surface
Photo by Castorly Stock on Pexels.com

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