Narcissist [poem]

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if he/she/it is a narcissist…
p a u s e…
(can a mere “it” be
a narcissist
for an “it” has no need
to dwell upon itself
for an “it” just isn’t human
so is free from every wretched form
of navel-gazing


if he/she is a narcissist
how are we to deal with them?
here is my fine theory for you
learned from raw experience
which works so well in practice
that you’ll wonder why you never
would have thought of this before:

first take a pointy pin
then stick it firmly in
the carefully hidden rear parts
(in common parlance
called the arse)
be sure to stand well back my friend
before you plunge that sharpful end
into that squidgy pridely butt
for arms will flail
and legs will kick
(a jackpot slot
machine you hit)
’cause when you’ve seen
right through their game
it drives those creatures

There can be no more fearful sight
not even zombies in the night
or even thigh-based cellulite
can be compared to a Narcissist
who’s been found out (they get so pissed)
watch for the clout inevitably falling
from their lips for blamed you’ll be
as they insist that you’re the nasty evil one
for daring to expose their game
for in their twisted prideful thoughts
their haughty image must be kept
in pristine form as white as snow
I swear they’d kill so no one knows
the truth about their real estate
where countless lies are kept intact
preferring fantasy to fact

Telepathic you must learn to be
so you can soon discover
all the ins and outs and wily arts
of their sociopathic sophistry
and if one such you want to bed
make sure to keep yourself ahead
of all the games they’re bound to play
or you will soon regret the day
you fell for such a crazy lay

So now make sure you can’t resist
deflating puffed-up narcissists
not for satisfaction’s sterile gains
but in order to reveal the ancient pains
(which blow a person up in size
with artificial ugly pride
destroying loveshade’s tender side)
and then when they have seen the truth
about their motives — realised
that they can never full embrace
relations with an honest face
just pray that things will fall in place
that they will no longer
obsessively need
to make themselves out
to be more than they are
preferring instead
the delicate maze of modesty’s moon
the intricate haze of humility’s tune
so love can then blossom in subtle perfumes
in place of the narcissist’s empty balloon.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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