Sunday, July 24, 2011


You won’t be defamed,
But it’s your first rule of defense.

You say “I’m a target”
but transfixed by a gun.

Calling everyone crazy,
to a shrink that concurs.

You’re always the victim,
But who’s on the attack?
He’s ruthless and huge
and looks oddly like you.

Sending away "the enemy" you once called "friends"
So they run -
from love,
to still caring,
to gone - no forwarding address.

So go on your way,
marching to your own drum.
Heading off to your narcissist’s party,
putting your spin on events.

Or jot it down in a letter,
send it off to your friends.
The list growing shorter,
And it’s always on them.

You write so eloquently
with the pen that bleeds out.
The wound self-inflicted
etched in black on your chest.


  1. beautiful poem Claudia! sad, though...we all know one like this. perhaps even myself.

  2. well, thanks very much, Barb... and it IS sad, indeed - everyone can probably see a bit of themselves in it....