“Love me!” It seems like two very innocent, simple words. It’s the plea of everyone who has every posted a vague status on Facebook, or ever called the suicide hotline, or ever made some foolish, desperate act to get the attention of the people they care about. “Love me” seems like it should be very simple to say. But it’s not.
I have hidden away from those words all my life. From the first moment someone I loved used my desperation to be loved as the reason to separate from me, I faded. No, before that, when the family I loved fell apart because of love, I faded. Before that. I was abused by someone who said they loved me, and I faded.
I learned that needing to be loved was a dangerous, despicable crime and should be avoided at all costs. That’s what life taught me, and I was an impressive, diligent student. I learned to hide. I buried myself in fiction (you’re welcome), and barricaded myself behind lies. Like a sociopath, I never let anyone within arms’ reach, so that when they smiled conspiratorially and thought to themselves, “I know her. I have her figured out!” I could smile into my soul and know without a hint of doubt that they were wrong. No one knows me, I would celebrate to myself. No one has a chance.
I’m not celebrating anymore. You know the cost of not asking to be loved? Do you know the cost of not allowing yourself to be vulnerable? Do you know what I paid for not being “high-maintenance” and a “basket-case”? A bucket of loneliness inside a fortress of solitude.
Well, I’m tired of being lonely. And I’m tired of hiding.
Please love me.
About the Creator
Nichole M. Willden
Nichole M. Willden is a poet, writer, and author of The Guild series. A survivor of indoctrination and abuse, Nichole has spent decades writing fiction that sizzles with themes of enslavement, hope, and resilience.
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Trigger Warning
I used to be pro-life. Or at least that’s what I called it. I thought I believed it out of love. I thought “Abortion is murder” and believed my god above was proud. I wasn’t loud. I was quiet in my condemnation of the crowd of sinners who used the left-wing media to push their gay agenda. Trying to steal god from our country and constitution. Trying to open closed borders to criminals. Trying to take my rights away. I would say “Bad guys will still get guns.” and “we should not give assistance to the lazy.” It’s all hazy now. I used to sit in my pew and think “I won’t let them brainwash me” as the words of pedophiles and hypocrites put me into a right-wing trance. I believed I was superior.
By Nichole M. Willden2 years ago in Poets
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli6 days ago in Poets
Standing Still
There are very few moments in life where time truly stands still. When your breath is taken from your chest and your body hangs weightless in that moment. Just long enough for it to stay with you from that day onwards. Deep in the red sands of the Australian Outback, I found that moment and clung to it forever.
By Kevin McLaughlin5 days ago in Wander
Comments (1)
Nichole, I don't hear sadness in this at all. I hear strength and hope and a woman who has found herself. Congrats!! Jennifer