Within the realm of manipulation's grasp, The push & pull technique holds a clasp. It starts with push, a deliberate shove, Undermining your confidence, testing your love. With calculated words & actions unkind, They create a doubt & confusion in your mind. Criticism & disapproval become their art, Weakening your spirit, tearing apart. Then comes the pull, a strategic allure, They shower you with affection, sweet & pure. With love & compliments, they draw you near, Creating a sense of dependency, fueling your fear. The push & pull, a dance of control, Leaving you vulnerable, lost in their role. They make you believe they hold the key, To happiness, validation, & feeling free. The outcome of this manipulative game, Is a power imbalance, a life filled with shame. You become reliant on their whims & desires, Trapped in a cycle, their puppet on wires. Your self-esteem crumbles, your identity fades, As you're pulled closer, entangled in their charades. They exploit your emotions, your need to be loved, Leaving you empty, like a wounded dove.
Identity
Art vs Expectations
In a world where dreams were cast aside, My artistic fire began to hide. The people around me, their doubts grew strong, "Study harder, child, don't you want to belong?" Ambitions suppressed, I followed their lead, Achieving straight A's, fulfilling their creed. But empty was my heart, devoid of delight, For I craved the canvas, the colors so bright. High school arrived, my facade crumbled fast, Grades slipped away, like grains in an hourglass. Yet within the chaos, a spark reappeared, 1 picked up my pencil, my passion revered. Years lost, creativity held in chains, But I embraced art, despite the pains. And amidst the struggle, a glimmer of hope, For my mother's support, like a lifeline, she'd rope. Yet weary I grew, tired of pretense, Of family's false pride, their shallow defense. Demanding my work, their voices would persist, But their words felt hollow, a mocking twist. So now I break free, from their expectations, Seeking my path, defying frustrations. For art is my essence, my soul's sweet release, Not measured by praise or societal peace. I'll paint with resilience, my spirit aflame, With strokes of passion, I'II etch my own name. No longer bound by their doubtful embrace, I'll forge my own destiny, in colors I trace. For true fulfillment lies in following my heart, In art's vast canvas, I'll find my true art. No more seeking validation or lies to appease, I’ll paint my own masterpiece, my soul's masterpiece.
Skin’s Veiled Vengeance
Shyeli: A man once told me to put on some clothes (menacing laugh)….So I wore his skin.
In the realm of shadows, where fears reside,
A chilling tale takes shape, where darkness hides.
A man, with arrogance, dared to berate,
Unleashing a venom that sealed his own fate.
“Put on some clothes,” his words unkind,
But little did he know what lay behind.
Shyeli, the enigma, with her eerie art,
Embraced his challenge, tearing his world apart.
She shed her gentle guise, a sinister ruse,
Slipping into darkness, where evil accrues.
With whispered laughter, she sought to amend,
Wearing his skin, a means to transcend.
The man’s visage became her twisted attire,
A macabre costume that fueled her fire.
She donned his essence, his identity lost,
A haunting transformation, at a dire cost.
Through the moonlit nights, she would roam,
Cloaked in the guise of the man she called home.
A chilling reminder of her vengeance uncurled,
As she taunted the wicked, making them unfurl.
Beware those who judge, with scornful intent,
For Shyeli lurks, her presence unbent.
She wears the skins of those who disdain,
Extracting retribution, their own sins to gain.
In the end, the man’s words came full circle,
A haunting echo, his fate now eternal.
For Shyeli, the avenger, remains in the fray,
A reminder that darkness will always find its way.
So heed this warning, as the night draws near,
Tread carefully, for Shyeli’s presence is clear.
Her tale of vengeance, in shadows it gleams,
A chilling reminder of the power of dreams.