Do you ever get that sensation…
Of discomfort in your stomach,
Or the feeling of a hand,
Tightening around your neck,
Stealing the air from your lungs?
The discomfort creeps its way into your body,
And makes the mind a fragile mirror maze,
When you begin to wonder what was real,
Where the truth starts and the lies end.
The girl looking back at me whispers,
It’s her, the one who he hid away from sight,
The one he longed to spend time with,
And one he lied for over your emotional safety.
My friends’ words echo in the labyrinth
Of loud and vicious voices that tear me down,
That I had done nothing to receive such betrayal,
And that you were the one who lacked integrity.
Yet, I am the one suffering the consequences
Of all-consuming thoughts gnawing away at my worth,
Thinking about what she possessed that I did not,
And why she was so special to you.
And you, without the words spoken aloud,
Told me through repeated offence that it was me—
That I was insecure for believing something was amiss,
And continued to covet her company.
My friends, both male and female, say that I was right to doubt. But you just want an admission of my insanity, don’t you? Well, here it is.
I am insecure, and my insecurities go by the name, Carlotta.
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