for jackie and all the others
Someone asked this question in one of the Facebook support groups I’m in:
“Can [narcissists] actually move on and be happy and change with someone new?”
Two days later, 269 group members had commented. Of those, 259 (a whopping 96%), said “no.”
Some of them clarified. Yes, they said, narcissists move on. In fact, they move on A LOT: from one source of narcissistic supply to the next. Again and again and again.
Are they happy? Tough to say. My guess is no, though they might pretend to be, particularly in the love-bombing phase.
Do they change? No. they repeat the same cycle of abuse over and over again, leaving a swath of broken people in their wake. The women in that FB support group know. They’ve been there. They’ve lived it. So have I.
This poem is for the woman who now follows in my footsteps as a victim (and hopefully eventually as a survivor) of the person I became entangled with. I have chosen to call her Jackie, but she might equally be called Janet, or Mary or Sandy or whatever. There will be more after her. Their names don’t matter, but THEY do. They matter. It breaks my heart not to be able to warn them about what lies in store. At least then they would have a choice and a chance.
to jackie
Click on the audio player if you would like to hear me read the poem:
to jackie
i wish i could warn you
twin sister in arms
but you were long ago caught
in the web of his charm
he’s told you he loves you
that you’re one of a kind
since the dawn of creation
you’ve been intertwined
you’re precious, you’re perfect
hard to believe you are real
you’re an angel from god
who will help him to heal
it all seems so perfect
i know what it’s like
but beware, of a sudden,
your heart’s on a spike
he built dreams with me too,
the future he faked
it’s as easy for him
as baking a cake
his life’s been so hard
the women so cruel
ground him into the dirt
and called him a fool
he cries as you hold him
like a babe at your breast
you don’t notice the evil
or that to him it’s all jest
you are his solace
his saviour, his grace
until fresh supply
steps into your place
the new ones await
on facebook, in shadows,
and when they emerge
it’s your turn at the gallows
he jokes and he laughs
at our collective expense
for not getting behaviour
that doesn’t make sense
i pray you will find me
when he leaves you for dead
so we can plant hope
in the days still ahead
© 2021 Susan Macaulay . I invite you to share my poetry and posts widely, but please do not reprint, reblog or copy and paste them in their entirety without my permission. Thank you.
