October 3, 2021

Poetry & Prose: Narcissistic Lesbians and my mother

Yvette Mozayik
The Narrative Matters Poet and Prose Blogger

I kept looking for the unconditional love that only a mother could give in the arms of my female lovers only to find the same narcissistic behavior.

I subconsciously chose situations that felt familiar to me. My toxic environment had shaped me. My mother’s violent relationships were what I was born into.

The cycle was intrinsically wired into my brain. They would love each other one minute and the next they were fighting and then they would have violent sex. It was like that for her entire life.

Subconsciously this is all I knew about relationships. Studies have proven that the first 6 years of a child’s life is when they are the most impressionable.

What children learn about the world during this time will be what is subconsciously their default. This is one reason I kept choosing the same women.

I kept looking for the unconditional love that only a mother could give in the arms of my female lovers only to find the same narcissistic behavior.

I wrote this poem while healing from a lifetime of narcissistic abuse that started with my mother.

 My therapist asked me, “Who was your first narcissist?”, this poem is the epiphany.

I kept marrying my mother

Over and over, I begged her to love me

To hold me, laugh with me, instead of mocking me

She abandoned me and I never knew

When or if I would ever see her again

So over and over I begged her to love me

To hold me and never let me go

I kept marrying my mother over and over

The all behaved just like her

Intently looking for places to dagger me to death

The buildup, the let down

Lying on me so the story sounds

true for those in the neighborhood

I am gifting, finally

My permission to hate who you were

I will take that hate and transmute it to self-love

Accepting, It is not me, that was her madness

My guilt was that I destroyed my children

Because it was so hard to be a mother

When the first time I can remember

she abandoned me when I was three

she called me a murderer to hide her degradation

I was scapegoated while she lied on me continuously

This is why, I kept sacrificing everything

Begging her to love me

the same narcissistic cycle

my brain was programmed that way

narcissists loved bomb me

without apology or acknowledgement

of the blood drawn from my soul

I was the best ever

Until they got cold

After that, I wasn’t shit

I just waited until

I was the bomb diggity again

Soon we would be out on display again

Outside the doors life was grand

Within those walls though

Your ass was a (female dog)

By yvette mozayik

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