The Man She Harbours

There are two of them.

She created him out of fear.

Perhaps she modelled him after her father.

He was her champion, her companion in solitude,

closing every door to her vulnerability.

Like a suit, she donned him often.

He kept her safe,

hidden from the world,

shielded from feeling.

But now, though she no longer needs him, he refuses to leave.

He’s far too entwined with her.

And I hate him.

He’s cold and cruel,

callous and dangerous.

He lies and creeps,

loathing love or anything that resembles it,

suspicious of its every trace.

When she tries to say 'I love you,' he makes her choke on the words.

To him, affection is weakness;

work and friends are safer havens.

Love is a low priority—vile and repulsive in his eyes.

Physical intimacy screams vulnerability,

and he always keeps one foot out the door.

He strangles my every attempt to love her,

trampling anything good between us,

all in the name of love.

He is deliberate, calculated,

poking at my insecurities to push me away.

He wants me to go rogue, to prove he was always right about me.

He taunts me daily,

revealing his ugly head far too often.

He wants me to fail, to give up, to run.

He is relentless.

And when I try to expose him,

he locks her up for days.

To him, she is still that little girl,

and she lets him,

preferring to stay his little girl forever.

But I call him out now.

I see when he takes control,

when he takes over.

That’s when she’s afraid, when she’s angry, when she feels vulnerable.

Or maybe… he’s just my excuse to pardon her inability to love securely.

Either way, I’m left to face the darkness she harbours inside, Because love her.