Pain comes not from my enemies
For they understand me
Much more than my loves
They know my ambitions
And my deepest desires
Because they have them too
My loves don’t know me
They are with me, but in truth
They are with themselves
Their own needs rule their thoughts
Their hearts
I am but a facilitator
Of their happiness
Not the true source
They want me for their narcissistic pleasures
Not as a partner in of experience
Not a co-lover of need
But a surrogate of their happiness
They imagine me a puppet of desire
To solve the conundrum of loneliness
The answer to troubles they experienced
Not an equal
Not a true love
Just a pawn of the moment
Fulfilling a longing
To take place of the empty spaces
A distraction from the longing
They act as the user , and I the used
What is more loathsome?
What is more diabolical?
An enemy who though my rival
My opposite who is honest in their intention
Or my lover who professes caring and love
Yet lies to my face stabs me in my unguarded heart
With a complacent demeanor
And a narcissistic resolve
Which is my closed relationship?
Love.. or hate?
Which is the most
Real?

An Original Poem By H.R. Beebe