I had lunch with a couple of friends this week who are looking more forward to the holidays this year than ever before. They’ve cut out a toxic personality from their lives, and they say life has never been better. I celebrate them and share, with permission and in poetic form, their sentiments from our conversation. Sometimes holidays require us to consider our own mental health, and this year is that year for them. They’ve cut all ties and have moved on with their lives in healthier ways. I couldn’t be happier for them.
They say they don’t miss a dozen iterations of a
salad not even on the menu or
the barely audible low talk with fake
victim eyes, polished nails tapping a
coffee mug
they don’t miss
making plans they never wanted in the
first place or the never-ending reach for
attention or the Bible whippings from
a pious mouth-hole
or her.
They don’t miss
her.
They don’t miss all the presumptions or her
sickening fundie baby voice or the conclusive
expressions of the Dunning-Kruger con artist
or the mission that something needs to be
fixed and she’s the sole savior to do it.
No one misses her.
No one wants to fix her broken world.
They mostly see her as a mosaic of
toxic personalities, there
in a heap of jagged
edges just waiting to cut her next victim
this narcissistic it’s-all-about-me princess of her
own flying monkey fantasy kingdom
who is always, always the victim.
Common Threads 