What Makes Me Think They Want Me…….. They Never Do, at Least it Seems to Be that Way

Tainted by my own deception of giving in to the flesh for so long, I had fallen into the trap. I felt because if I gave all my goods away, I would be even more desirable. Funny how the mind tricks us into believe our own lies. I mean you can look at things around you and receive answers that you had questioned years prior but that one simple question that carries the weight of so much, you can never find. "What makes me think that they want me?" I was not worthy of many things because I caused myself to be encased into a lie in which I created. A lie built upon the first lie; I am not worthy to be loved. Why feel that I am not worthy when I can achieve all that I put my mind to? Simple really. Because I pushed so many people away and felt undeserving as a child, not getting what I wanted (having a dad around), I felt that I could never be loved. Of course this story plays out over and over again when I reach a certain point in my life. It returns like a cold winter night haunting me every so often having to face a dark past in which I contributed to; being the trick that enjoyed being hurting every man, so I thought, in sight waiting in the early morning fog like a black widow or mantis to kill her prey. Of course, I was the one being killed in the process, burning my flesh even more so with each act of evilness I could think of calling it pleasure, deceiving myself with what I had between my legs claiming that it gave me power to be and do whatever I wished.

What make me think they want me? They never do, at least it seems to be that way because they are with the ones they were destined to be with and I was just a mere play thing. I played each scenario out before it even approached me in hopes of walking down the aisle with my beau smiling that smile and a slight tear trickling down his cheek. Again silly me. I deserve where I am at this very moment because I had to pay the price for killing a portion of me. Telling fables to myself written, verbally, and meeting me in my dreams. They say the good girls always win. See, there aren't many Pretty Women that do fall in love like we would believe the big screen told us back in 1990. I had hopes like her, foolish to believe that a beau would come save me in the end in his limo; okay I lived in the hood so an accord. Either way, you come to a point where all of those things are just another dream waiting to be written out in the next novel. At least in the end of those I can create what I wish to be true because what makes me think they really want me. They never do, at least it seems to be that way when life around you is slowly fading away.