We've been taught to see the narcissist as monster. As villain. As the one who takes and takes and leaves nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But what if the monster was once a child? What if the villain was once a boy standing at a window, waiting for a mother who never learned to look back?

In this episode, we do something unprecedented. We sit inside the skin of the narcissist. Not to excuse, but to understand. Through an original spoken word piece that moves through four generations, four voices, and one Harlem stoop, we trace the architecture of narcissism from wound to weapon and back again.

You'll hear from:

· The boy who became his own reflection because no one else would hold his gaze

· The mother who couldn't give what she never received, a daughter of daughters who inherited hunger like heirloom china

· The daughter of the narcissist, who learned to make herself small and is now learning to take up space

· The lover who stayed too long, mistaking survival for love, and finally walked away to find his own face

· The stoop itself: the witness, the holder, the ancestor of every story this city has ever whispered

This is not a clinical dissection. This is poetry as excavation. This is poet meets community meets therapist's office meets the fire escape at 3 a.m. when you can't stop thinking about your mother.

Whether you are the narcissist, have loved one, or are finally learning to love yourself after a lifetime of shrinking…this episode is for you.

Because healing doesn't start with condemnation.

It starts with seeing.

And being seen.