Some Understanding

November 17, 2012 § 4 Comments

Why didn’t I trust her more? That’s what my mom asked me today. Shocked when I reveal I have PTSD. Angry that I won’t look at her, you can’t be perfect! Have I ever expressed any disappointment in you?

Even then I was tap dancing, doesn’t she get that? I so wanted to be the wonderful thing in her life. I wanted to make up for my dad and all his faults and abuses. I would be great. not only great, I’d be the best and it wouldn’t be for nothing. Do you understand that? It wouldn’t be for nothing if I was something.

Perfect people don’t get raped. Once raped, forever ruined, broken, busted, disgusting, damaged, broken, violated, pussy pussy pussy, did I mention broken? Why didn’t he insist I tell him? Why didn’t my dad DEMAND I tell him? Why didn’t he go out and defend me like he did my brother? Why didn’t he fucking realize my need? How that left me all alone?

Fuck you. I didn’t tell you fucking people because you’d never understand. No one can, so whats the point in talkin’…

Because Someone Else Believed In God

November 5, 2012 § 1 Comment

The man who saved me died of a blood clot in his brain when he was 20 years old. He died while I was in college and living in Lynn. It was shocking, as these young deaths are. I had been alternatingly kind and cruel to this boy, as teenage girls are. His confidence was intoxicating but… he wasnt much to look at.

To go to the service, I just had to get off the bus. But I didn’t. And when I didn’t, I laid my head against the glass and asked for forgiveness. I asked him to forgive me for still not being better. Not better enough to go to his funeral and say good-bye. Not better enough to be facing up to a lot of the bad things in my life.

The man who saved my life broke my biggest promise.

Please, please, please don’t tell anyone he follows me. Dont tell anyone he has hit me. Yes, he does put his hands on me but don’t tell, please please, don’t tell, keep my secret, keep my shame, keep it quiet, like all pain maybe it will go away, no, I don’t fear my life, no he never follows me, no it’s not that bad I shouldnt have said anything, please don’t tell anyone…

He told Father Doolan, a weak prissy man whom I had seen nod off in assembly, who showed me a roll of communion like crackers in a Ritz box. Weak, spineless, disgusting, why would I ever think someone like him…

No one could save me from my torture, certainly not some pudgy sinner a pompous promise away from diddling boys…

But this man, this boy whom I made promise, he believed. He has been raised to believe the church helped so maybe that’s why, I think that’s why. I don’t know. I never asked him. Then, the time to ask was gone and time was gone and he was gone. He who saved me, he who hurt me and the man of God.

Thrown Valve Moments

October 26, 2012 § 1 Comment

Oh the glorious moments after the children are bedded down. I settle myself in my evening safe space, laptop, blackberry, weed, bowl. Lighter. The pressure valve that’s thrown, the release of a big puff of air when you realize you survived another day. Another whole day of kids and husband and life. Disasters, holidays, happy days, homework time, random moments of a practically spiritual nature. And laughing. What else can you do but laugh a lot. That’s how you get them there, give kids roots and give them wings, as my friend Libby would say. I’m sorry I can’t give them more and I’m proud for what I give them. I agonize over every misstep, every fall back and broken expectation. Like fractured glass. Then, there are spelling tests. 96! And the LittleOne says “Mommy, can you scratch my back?” And you do and she throws her head back and says “Ahhhhhhh.” And you can’t believe it!

It’s worth it. For these thrown valve moments.

Impenetrable Lessons

October 24, 2012 § 1 Comment

educate
your
face honey slut

Just What Am I Obsessing Over Right Now

September 23, 2012 § 3 Comments

This time last year, I was probably checking on more than 80 blogs a day. That’s the way I do stuff, I get toooootally obsessed and immersed, then drunkenly emerge from the obsession. Sometimes my husband has to kindly ask me to emerge a little early, if things got a BIT too intense. Sometimes he doesn’t know what the obsession is, but recognizes all the signs. OR at least I think he does. I’m not him. I just maybe wonder if he wouldn’t, sometimes I feel like my skin burns and blazes with the betrayal such obsessions amount to…

I’m reading Horns, by Joe Hill and I think it’s fucking me up. He is an incredible writer who only resembles his father, Stephen King, in the way that I CANT PUT THE BOOK DOWN.

So, big surprise, still obsessing over Mr. Alder’s lovely photos. I know I haven’t done the Buddha Rocks Project in a while, but its not due to a lack of new photos. That man is a machine. I just don’t have it in me. The flow of words is much slower lately. Sometimes the riverbed is exposed and bone dry.

DVerse Poetry is my only hold on the blogging community right now and I remain grateful that each week I can post, read and be read by such a diverse collection of poets and writers, including Orangeuapoet.

Libby has been writing her love/life story for a while now. Each post cuts and kisses.

Lastly, Steve Schultz. Otherwise known as Fractured Phrases. People? Rise up and demand he publish. He remains the only blog/blogs I read on a daily basis since forever. And his kids are so damn cute. He takes amazing photographs and isn’t afraid to be himself.

That’s all.  Because I will certainly not admit to playing Castleville rather than anything else right now. I am certainly not some geek, definitely not some Survivor-watching loser. I’m always being creative and mysterious and shit.

Love.

The Reassurance of Plain Jane

September 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

the problem
with loving
the Builder

intimacy deep ends on honesty

inevitably
other projects
set him free

gifts like
pussy

after all

don’t win
the prize

unless

the prize=alone

what a
lash out
jealous bitch

I take words
everywhere-
places
I know I wont like

he reminds me~~~
I’m just a child

you told her my name
and it wasnt
your baby

but it sure was plain
so thank you
just the same.

Provident

September 11, 2012 § 1 Comment

The tracks thrummed with energy as she raised her arms to feel the sun. Roderick was behind her, trembling like the gravel, but Vanessa held her ground.

“Nessa?” His voice was frightened. She tasted his doubt and in her head, pronounced it delicious.  What she would do? Slowly she lowered her limbs and turned to him.

“Rod, calm yourself.” She said with cold calculation. The hurt look that crossed like cloud winking sunrays gave her more burn, more fury.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you to Patterson’s for shaved ice, my treat.” Cotton ball puffs appeared first, happy puffs that made Vanessa scrunch her toes up in a clinging gesture, as if to defy gravity.

“I am going to do it.” She hated the plaintive tone in her voice, hated to sound like a pouting child. “You don’t believe me either.”

“I don’t WANT to believe you, Vanessa. I want to go home.” She decided to calm his fears, sensing she was pushing him too far. She needed him to witness, Craig and Trey wouldn’t just take her word for it. But they think Rod is a sniveling baby, she thought, and not above lying for her. She felt weakness, like an animal wrapping its round, warm body around her brain

The train blew its whistle to indicate its approach to the station just over the hill behind Vanessa. No faces filled the early evening windows, the surrounding mostly rent-a-rooms and boarding houses. A knot of doubt started to tighten in her belly.

 “Rod, it will be fine. I promise. “Rod glared at her with wet eyes, then turned and started to walk away. Then he surprised Vanessa by sitting on the rocky ground.

“Fine. Do it then.” A new look, one of defiance filled Rod’s whole persona. Her stomach dropped. Bottom floor, time to get off. She turned back towards the approaching train, her heart thudding in her throat. The glass bid a final farewell to the reflecting sunset. Silhouettes of mild slopes and tucks, clapboard dresses on classic America cookie-cutter domiciles; she hated the finality of it.

“Okay then, let’s go.” She stepped off the tracks and reached out her hand to help Rod up. He was kind and said nothing.

At Patterson’s, she got lemon and he got watermelon. On him, as promised.

Dearborn’s Backyard by Eric Alder

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