Headhunted.

In praise of qualification, a want of my skillset and focus brings initial joy then quick comes the apprehension as the mothership kicks in with her jealous resentment of a life she feared to live, a terror past down I doggedly pushed on through. Without her spited voice seething down the line, viciously prodding and poking at my acquired sensitivities, her bile can still be felt, embedded in my soul. The child I am trembles at what punishers will befit such an occasion, for this accolade.

I am my own mother, a necessity borne. There may be fear, dear one, rest easy and know you are desired, you are worthy of such attainment and will go where you will with ability many know not as you hide away that self most deserving of recognition and loveable affection. The company I mostly keep is not so interested as they are themselves provide a wall of conceited attention gained to safely hide behind, to maintain illusion of one so affable, simplistically aligned with flow of bragged noise abound yet quiet, hearing all and saying nowt to bring to me eyes that do not view with clarity I would be afforded if only known. Bring back that double-edged sword for I am lost in such surroundings yet found the space to rest weary with jovial mechanisms they too hide a person in want of caress for until I find my tribe.