You might not know this.
Maybe you met me a long time ago, when I was weak, damaged, and scared. Or maybe you're just seeing me as your own projection. Or maybe you've never met a person who didn't have a price. Or maybe your life lacks so deeply that the delusion of power over me seems intoxicating.
Maybe you can't help yourself. Because you sure aren't listening.
You just keep raising the bidding. At an auction that I'm not attending.
Because, I am not for sale.
Neither is my mind.
I see that you want to make me feel something. You want to be in charge. You want to crawl inside my body and control my experience.
I should break it to ya, darling:
My emotions are my own. I decide what I get to feel.
You cannot bully me. Intimidate me. Persuade me. Change me.
Without my consent.
I remember you from the old days.
Back when I used to get around.
An emotional floozy.
I'd turn tricks with anxiety, anger, despair, worry, sadness.
They were my regular customers.
I took the red light down. And walked away from the business of selling out.
My soul is too precious.
I answer to myself.
I know who I am.
When I make a mistake, I own it.
And my victories, I celebrate.
You can not buy me with money.
Or fear. Or Promises.
Or hate. Or intimidation.
Those prices don't even come close to my value.
I am not for sale.