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"Play nice with your demons and they'll play nice with you."

These are words my brother would tell me.

Play? Nice?

Those are words I don't understand.

I don't play.

I'm not nice.

Everything I do benefits me, nothing less or nothing more.
I'm greedy, selfish, stubborn... I want everything without having to give too much.

I take, I take and I take and after..if you have nothing left to give? What use are you to me?

I'm too honest, I don't hide my disinterest in anyone or anything.

You either are useful to me or you're not, there's no "between".

Submit.
Give me your all.
Repeat.

I told my brother this.

He told me I didn't play nice with my demons, instead I became their queen.

If my words were an object
They'd be a knife

A knife that could just tap at the surface
A knife that could just bruise the top layer of skin
A knife that could cut thin
A knife that could cut wide
A knife that could plunge so deep...

It would leave a scar

Internally, never healing, never changing

Constantly causing you pain

I want my words to cut you deep

Why?

I want to carve out the pieces of you I don't need

Your pride
Your timidness
Your humanity

I want them all removed, so I can grow something much more useful...

To me.