No one. Everyone.

You are no one.
Just a ghost in my story.
Haunted by vices,
finding pleasure in suffering.
You ask to be saved
but then pull the trigger on your salvation.
Wallowing in helplessness is easier
than facing your demons.
I could have been there for you,
had you let me,
but you had other ideas —
deceit was a more palatable option.
The perfectionist in you
waited for no opportunities to fail.
I would have held you,
but you ran in the other direction.
Tugging at my heart
with words and images
intentionally misguided,
you traded authenticity
for a projection
you couldn’t even explain to yourself.
“I can’t make decisions without
regretting them immediately after”
was your excuse for finally leaving,
forceful as a mallet shattering
everything you've ever built.
Pieces of life stories
scattered on the lawn,
left to disintegrate, 
or maybe to be reassembled? 
Creations are only as beautiful
as the beliefs upon which they are built.
You are not destined to repeat your past
unless you choose to refuse
to move past things 
that hold you hostage to your shadows.
As long as you resist,
healing won’t come.
You will run and run faster still
whenever someone shines a light
on a wound
you refuse to acknowledge.
But you can’t outrun yourself.
Your reality mirrors your beliefs —
whether you understand this or not —
and your desires cannot manifest
as long as you’re held in captivity 
of your narratives.
A weak,
unworthy,
stupid
child.
A despicable weakling,
a walking disaster,
a wreck.
Below the level of consciousness
the ugliness speaks;
a sense of hopelessness tugs at you 
mercilessly,
until it creeps into your awareness
and you turn it into resolve.
But this resolve has no true direction
so the fight turns
against you.
You busy yourself with anything
that will prove
you’re none of those things
while fearing you can’t be anything but.
The conflict is real,
the internal struggle palpable,
and the smile on your face morphs
into superficial cheer ravenous for fuel.
I cannot give you
what you think you want.
And I cannot give you
what you aren’t ready to receive.
But I can let you go,
and trust 
that there will be guideposts
leading you home, 
one broken heart at a time.
Until then,
may you go in peace,
may you be healthy,
may you be happy,
may you be safe.
May you no longer haunt my headspace.
You are no one.
You are everyone.
Now go.
Leave me to my contemplations
and the unending stream of words 
that only I truly understand.
Or maybe everyone does.