The Narcissist Bar Star

So,

you were dissed in high school

dismissed , never kissed

invisible to all the pretty girls

ignored by those you thought were the “cool” kids

*       *

then after a “serious,” teen heartache

which lasted as long as this poem takes

through with being  rejected

 reflecting in the mirror

saw clearer to what vanity could create

and turning away from the light,  choose a dark fate

now you could escape who you really are

get back at the world who scarred you

and so was birthed from within- an inner sub-criminal, dis social, psychopath,

king of narcissists, discriminatory thief of characteristics

*          *

Career? That was an easy choice

the place with the least amount of responsibility

where the reality of truth had best invisibility

and talent and creativity are misleading

where any trace of blatant phoniness, lying and flagrancy

cease to exist,

what better a place for a infantile narcissist to show off his

 naked lying face while  “charading” in bliss?

The Bar!

*       *

and so with giddiness

and glee

intoxicated on contradictions

lacking in confidence but poised ready and smiling,

  his mother driving him

down the road, round the bend

sure of conquering what’s at the end

in becoming

…..the hometown Bar Star

*      *

  the crowds here are easy

just learn some chords

they don’t even have to be yours

no one cares you’re a replicate on replay

they can’ t see the charade

and there’s never a challenge of credibility

of a guy with a guitar

impersonating, masquerading

playing music by real stars

who are  “blowin” up the radio

*      *

this is where extreme narcissists full in histrionics- are welcome

  guys stake their ground, shaking hands like a Russian mafioso

“hi man whats up, you going to my next show?”

where guys pushing 40, are free to

hit on the under 20s

in a skewed reality

 thinking…they are quite normal

*        *

The bar is a haven, housing emotionless relationships

where love is built in cheesy nourishment’s

dripping in lies and redundant lines like

“hi hun, how’s my sweat little thing?”

*      *

to keep the lie, that he is alive

he needs a constant supply of applause and adulation

to fuel dead emotions so he can beguile

swaying and distracting

your attentions away

 determining  your worth in qualities

confiscating the ones, useful in variety

to add to the image of star

*     *

but away from the bar

the narcissist will insist he’s above such “lowly” crowds

yet here is where he finds his supply-

 a corral  of  penned up sheep parts

currently trending in popularity

*          *

The Bar Star narcissist

feeds to replenish his eternal emptiness

camouflaging his dullness to clothe his blank, bleakness

creating a functional social round setting of normality, while

blanketing a

character-

fabricated from

what he covets

and covertly envies-

ultimately- to cover up the disgust of who he is really

*      *

Be forewarned, the Bar Star will never retire

his dire condition demands durable enablers

like desperate groupies and yes, his mommie

here’s a tip for those hanging by the band at the bar waiting for Mr. tomorrow-

don’t fall for the lame guy who’s making you feel so (blah) special

like you and him share some  personal connection

 his affections are there to ensure  he gets back , positivity

 and possibly he’ll ask what  he should be pinning on (Pinterest)-

just to seem well rounded in interest

he’ll  boast, always humbly,  telling you how well traveled he is

although he’s never even lived outside of his home

in all the time since you’ve been alive

trust your instincts and not the flattery, it’s not for you anyway

*      *

the narcissist only finds worth

in his obsessing and chasing his dream

to fix an un-fixable bruised ego of a guy trapped as a teen-

denied the supreme senior reign

the  proms crowning glory

of

the high school class king

and all over,

super-star-stud

    ……………………………The Bar Star Lives On
*

This is dVerse‘ last link up for this year! Head on over and read some amazing poems ! Looking forward to Next Year! Thanks dVerse for being YOU!

Advertisements

A circle of Blank

slipping sliding

my conscious bleeding out on the bathroom floor

and still I wanted more

soft hands easy lips

no more of me left to give

 

cotton balls swimming in empty tea cups

we’re yesterdays sunset rising up

soft light loves alive in the club

until day

kissing away

any traces of yesterdays red

 

no one sells soul shelter here

your words can’t build me one

i’ve come undone

all the flesh I lick has lost its flavor

 

the new drummers drowning out left over memories of you

shakers full of absolute

and the blue eyed girl singing my song

another feckless wench

a crumpled mess of numbers passed out on the bed

laced up sideways and ready for dead

am I still bleeding?

 

not a groupie just a lover of muszac

I’m watching Nashville, which I absolutley love clare and sams voice! The singing is fab and the songs are cool. I love bands that play in small clubs where only a handful of people can sit and listen to some great real, deal, feeling music. I’ll never go to a katie perry show because that is just what it is. you can’t sit back and let the words sink in as the melody takes you away to some far off land. Whenever I went to concerts and hung out back stage or on the bands bus it always amazed me for how much they talked about “groupies” and how annoying and wacko they can be and how much they value their time away from them, they dislike or should I say get turned off just as much from people who could care less about how popular they are or how many cd’s they’ve sold. You get ignored if you didn’t act in “awe” of them kissing, drooling all over their shoes. A lot of them have this complex where they think non band people have no idea what it takes to be an ar-teast and that the creative process is reserved only for cd-sellers. So with that said I’d love to see an influx of small joints open up across the country where we can go, grab a chair, listen to some cool tunes, actually see the instruments being played and being played by gifted musicians (no equalizer, equazers, enhancers yatee, yattee) and meet other great, creative- minded soul- filled -souls.