Elise Shaw

He was a con artist.
Meticulous, calculated, charming.
And I fell for it.

I know now he was in the wrong.
But it feels like I was in the wrong too.

Like playing a game
where he cheated.
Manipulated me into participating
when it was rigged from the start.

He was playing chess,
ten moves ahead,
and I was the queen
about to be knocked off her throne.

He didn’t just win, though.
He eliminated the competition,
took me off the playing field.

But I had still played the game, right?
I had still chosen to play
the fucking game,
and I feel so stupid.

Like a granny falling for a scam call,
or a kid getting tricked
out of their lunch money.

He stole a lot more from me than that, of course.
The kind of thief that pilfers more
than just the physical.

He robbed me of things you can’t get back.
Even time itself.

Past, present, future,
all gone.

And I have to live with it.
While he gets to continue winning
and cashing in.

I guess I’m a sore loser.

Once you get so spectacularly outplayed,
how can you ever trust yourself
to have fun again?

You don’t.
You just stop taking part.

Missing out is better
than risking another defeat like that.

Like the granny who stopped answering her phone,
or the kid who started taking a packed lunch.

It wasn’t my fault.
I was the victim.

It wasn’t my fault.
I was the victim.

It wasn’t my fault.

But it kind of feels like it was,
and I’m a fucking idiot.

Even as a child,
I should have known better.