Category: society

Narcicist .

I recently had the pleasure of sharing private messages with a narcissist. By pleasure I mean soul destroying energy draining horror. I wouldn’t normally choose to communicate with such a person but in this case my eye was off the ball and before I knew it he was under my skin. I blocked him. Yet his presence has continued to annoy me. The fault lays entirely with me my intuition screamed at me that there was something wrong about this person, but this clashed with my beliefs that we shouldn’t judge a person on first impressions….what the fucking hell was I thinking!  I communicated with him for just under a week and in that time he shared anger, gas lighting, manipulation, obsessiveness, a desire for power and control as well as an ability to wield that power and control. All of these emotions convert to energy as an empath I pick up on that frequency of energy….the problem with this is that most other people can’t , so his public posts just appeared to them as harmless, quirky as us writers are, but harmless. Of course in his pm’s he was able to explore my vulnerabilities with more vigour, but it was also there in his public posts and replies. I should have been able to shake him off but the reality is his clear disrespect toward me has highlighted my vulnerabilities and taken me into a place of questioning. Amazing how quickly a narcissist can get in and fuck with your head. In short he disrespected me as a female writer, us females are already fighting enough stereotypical crap as it is we don’t need individuals to play along too. He did this in a number of ways, covertly communicating in such a way that he expected me to not notice. I did notice. The vulnerabilities he highlighted have been dominating my mind and pushing me into a corner to clearly stand up and define who it is I am as both a person and a writer. I guess in a way the situation has made me question whether he didn’t take me seriously as a writer, because up until this point I haven’t taken myself seriously as a writer.

Over the next few weeks I plan to explore the different ways in which this person was able to disrespect me as a writer. I could of course sweep it under the rug, shrug it off and pretend it never happened, but why the fuck should I, my writing style pushes the boundaries and I often explore topics that allows society to stereotypically label me. This is the problem.. I am who I am, I am not the words on page I am the spaces between them and for that alone I deserve respect.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

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I never used to iron.

Ironing. For years I refused to be a slave to the mould of hot steaming iron. I refused to smooth away the crinkles, press creases and stand in the ultimate housewife position. Legs spread, board out, piles upon piles of  stylistic statements before me, all of them requiring attention, all of them requiring me to become the atypical label. A housewife, a wife a mother, a female, a girl a lady. We iron.

We stand for hours, up the board, down the board, bored, bored, bored.  You were in or you out. I was out. I was the black death of womanhood my views contagious, my opinion death like. So I ironed less and welcomed my self induced plague. 

I iron. I became the label that society imposed on me. Sickened by my acceptance I remove my bra in protest.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Flowers in the attic where do you hide!

The feeling creeps in slowly.
Panic, as I flip through once, twice, three times. I search the normal places, beside  the bed, the couch, at the top of the stairs, by the window in the kitchen next to the heater, the window that shows me the sun as he wakes and the moon as she wakes. It’s not there and not even the sparkling stars in the clear skies can make me feel better. I search inside bags and tucked beneath the mattress, I pull out the bed and feel my heart sink, my eyes prickle and for a moment I question my sanity. What if. What if I didn’t own that book, what if I just borrowed it, that would certainly make sense and suddenly it feels like my world is crashing, I just want to read the book, now, I search some more determined to be sure that the book is at least not here. Emptiness envelopes around me, darkness falls upon my heart, I feel a great void where a story should be, not any story and certainly not a recall from the many times I have read it before, a void created through the lack of pages to turn, the lack of worn out paper in my hands. The emptiness has become me.

Karen Hayward 2015. ©

Zadkiel I call upon thee now to give clarity to a final deed, did I turn my back on a soul in need? Is forgiveness the acceptance of even the broken,  no matter how harsh their words spoken? Must I forgive time and time again whilst they sprinkle down hatred that fills me with pain?
Zadkiel, can I forgive, forget and move on? Can I forget the shock in their voice as I questioned their choice? Was I wrong, should I have remained strong? Am I not her protector, is it not my duty to shield her? Was it selfish, did I put her ahead of their needs when they are so desperately in search of the broken seed? Zadkiel, I am lost and in fear, I searched for you but could not see you near. The words flowed with surprising ease as I watched her fall to her knee’s. Her beliefs torn apart, her thoughts questioned she stumbled upon lies a clouded darkness fell upon her eye’s. Chance and chance again, Zadkiel, I gave in and before my eye’s grey scale fell and I saw as I never seen before,
and now her role within, is no more. Zadkiel, I ask for clarity and forgiveness reserved for the strong, is my heart right? Did I do no wrong?

Karen Hayward © 2015.

What is forgiveness.

What is forgiveness? I’ve spoke those words a thousand times over and still I search for peace. I’ve forgiven your knowing spiteful tongue, i’ve forgiven your chosen ignorance. I’ve worked tirelessly to hold together the slipping strings as you have pulled and pulled demanding respect for your title alone. I have shed tears in the darkness on the balance of your belief. I have stood alone day after day because you refuse to accept her. Pride, my pride was swallowed down the moment I became.Standing alone in the darkness with my pride, you have danced holding it up as though a trophy of my defeat, I forgive therefore I am naive, I am weak. I am without bitterness, I am without hate.I am beginning to wonder at what point I should close the gate. You are blinded by your own selfish beliefs. You are blinded by fear. Perhaps, forgiveness is meant for me, I cannot make you see, perhaps this time, forgiveness is meant for me.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

This world has gone bust.

Ten balls to a dozen

and the world,

keeps a rushing,

spinning , twirling, turning

the world as we know it

is burning.

Black skies turn to day

Old mans compass has lost his way.

North is showered in glorious sun,

As winter spreads, death has come,

Rainbows end is now in sight,

pick up your sword, get ready to fight.

A portal of doom a snake of the lair,

don’t expect these

to understand fair.

The sinners

the greed

have long planted their seed.

Growing now the evolution of time,

society obsessed with

the addiction of crime.

Discriminate who? Only a few.

Earth is lost in a jungle of hate,

we are the ones, opening Satan’s gate.

He laughs and he roars,

as they knock at his door,

All of them coming,

some of them running.

They dance in the street

with the sun at their feet.

She looks on from a far

lunar tears, of falling stars,

she came so close,

she came so far.

Dolphins fly, birds swim,

cats wagging a new grown fin.

Houses thrash through thunderous skies,

But no one stops, to question why.

So many to blame,

name after name.

The blasphemers, the dreamers,

the non believers.

As trees burn to ash live dies in a flash,

Seas swell, swirling the living,

never forgiving.

Rock turns to dust,

metal to rust, affairs into lust,

this world has gone bust.

Help the tv has control!

Sit back enjoy a cup a tea,
feet up, watch the tv.
Let my muscles go to waste;
as the media dictates my tastes, and
Some lady screams
from my oversized screen,
that this is life,
this is what it means.
She tells me the date, the time,
that the world is over run by
Poverty and crime.
Don’t read those words,
come watch the show,
It tells you everything,
That you need to know.
Here let me help, take my hand,
As I introduce you to la la land.
It all feels so soft, comfy and so,
As the tv tells me what i need to know.
I think I am lost, or maybe found,
I can’t hear over this drismal sound.

Karen Hayward ©2015.