I am my own Iago
Planting lies and part truths where there are gaps
In what I know.
I sow the seeds of jealousy and despair
In my own mind
I know how to manipulate myself to hysteria.
To get my own twisted way.
Plunging me into suffering.
Filling in what I don’t know
With half truths based on lies I tell myself.
You are not worthy.
You are too much.
You are burdensome.
I cheat my own fair Desdemona of life.
I choke it from her lungs
But she is innocent
She is joy
She is laughter.
She is hope and faith and security.
She is blameless.
I extinguish her flame
At the hands of pain,
frustration and anger.
My Othello acts not on the truth of the matter
But on the version I’ve twisted with my Iago lies.
Put out the light.
Darkness blankets the good.
I loved not wisely
But too well.
Giving the love I wanted to give
Not the love that was needed.
It is too late.
I can’t go back and change the past.
But in future
I will try not to listen
To my Iago lies.
Recognise them for what they are.
Insecurities.
Fears.
Anxieties.
If I leave the light shining,
If I realise my worth
maybe one day
I won’t even hear my Iago lies any more.