Death of a desert.

Distant.  Detached.  

It's how they described me.  

How wrong they were.

Each insult; each jab; each cruel word all cut deep into my perceived thick skin.

Telling people I was used to it did not mean it was painless.

All it meant was I was good at hiding how much it hurt. 

My being was like a desert.

Harsh so not many can survive in it - only the deserving will.

Like all deserts an oasis can be found- it will nurture and allow all who find it to flourish but it will not feed the desert. 

Selfish. Self-indulged. 

It's how they described me.

How wrong they were. 

Every single person let me down. 

Smiling and telling people it was alright didn't mean it didn't hurt me and make me feel like nothing. 

What it meant was I didn't want to hurt them back; I didn't want to fight them on it. 

My being was like a desert. 

And like all deserts camels are used to cross me - strong and able they are.

But one by one they have been given too many a straw and now they are broken. 

Sensitive. Moody. 

It's how they described me.

How wrong they were. 

All of the people I decided to let in decided no. 

Apologising after being angry I would try and bring them back but they never deemed me good enough. 

Trying to get them back didn't mean I was no longer hurt by their wrongs, it meant I valued them more than my pain.

My being was like a desert.

Just as the day in the desert is hot and unrelenting the night brings relief with the drastic cool.

But sometimes the desert day is too hot whilst the desert night is too cold and some will perish.  

Distant. Detached. 

It's how they described me.

How they made me wish I was. 

If I wanted to survive I would need to succumb. 

But in a perverse fashion my defiance grew strong and would not allow me to succumb.

My DNA was full of contradictions strong and steady in a way but weak and frail in others; if only my body could compromise.

My being was like a desert. 

Like all deserts you could find an oasis in me. An oasis that birthed and fed my tears also.

But all who had passed through had poisoned my oasis. 

Once my tears could fall and create a relief - my tears would rebirth my oasis. 

But now they haunt me with all my hurt and burn down my face like acid. 

Cold. Dead. 

It's how they describe me.

How right they are. 

Author's Note

What does this provoke from you?