February 16, 2013 § 1 Comment
It hasn’t been the same since they changed therapy rooms. She hasn’t been able to be anonymous and obsessively poet doodle, short tight bunches of truncated prose, ugly word combinations uttered in her head as the energy from the room swirls and colors and dissipates. She is afraid that she says too much. She is afraid she doesn’t say enough. She realizes talking is granting help just as much as listening. She makes the ugly brave request to talk about the abuse. To try to actively get to that part of the gigantic sore in the innards of her mind.
Do they always say innards? Never outards?
The week she asks for this discussion she leaves group shakily optimistic and somewhat regretful. While driving someone honks at someone and she is now in an aggressive driving situation. And that settles it. She has asked for trouble. She is now under attack. You see, he even controls the cogs of the universe, weaving the very loom of the fabric of fate itself.
Don’t tell, he knows, he knows. He keeps his promises.
He even finds a way to affect her lover’s behavior. She cleans up other messes too. She is the master of cleaning up messes, of walking on eggshells, even tap dancing on them. But the bad things keep multiplying and threatening to topple all her safe towers.
She is aware she shouldn’t need towers. But now, all her stuff is here.
A reprieve is granted and she gets another week to avoid the talk, avoid her own bringing on of pain, she has scraped herself till her ions are charged and magnetic, bringing the bad with her every attempt to be safe in a world she feels can only be UNSAFE, dragging around floating space garbage-like woe.
The talk goes worse than she ever thinks it could go. The expected number when thinking about HIM, but an unexpected number for her lover.
This cannot be so and she is angry. She is not still a victim she is wrong and she is angry and the woman is wrong and group is wrong.
She thinks she can tell her lover, to prove them wrong. That his reaction would not be the angry unsure reaction of an abuser. She doesn’t think this man is an abuser. He is the abuser. She means was, she thinks to herself.
January 24, 2013 § Leave a Comment
I miss him and his body.
I only saw pictures. I only saw words. I only heard voice
of everyday prattle. Design
but so divine, so MINE.
The rules always fuck me.
One time, they will protect me.
man for me,
The builder has been deconstructed.
No end to those who can live without me,
lonely little fuck rule
squeals me. Build me…
I want to say
what to the men who seem to know me…
Don’t desert me,
bereft please be
due to lack of me.
Something essential: fuck me or leave me.
January 14, 2013 § 1 Comment
I’m falling asleep to the thought of your voice
A grip on my choice to keep thinking
Am I sexy?
You repeat it again
Built of words and revelations
Would you be let down?
Would you bring me up and then drink my desire?
Use your laugh to smash all defenses
We shall lament
But we shall also dance.
December 4, 2012 § Leave a Comment
He told me to meet him and I said I wouldn’t. In fact, I said I wouldn’t be caught dead there. He smiled, like he knew it was all posturing and walked away with his boys. Halfway down the block, he turned.
“Don’t break my heart!” He called to me, that flirtatious look visible even at a distance. I laughed in spite of myself.
November 26, 2012 § 1 Comment
Normal Joe, I love you so
precisely for the dirty reasons,
the uncomfortable reasons like
your sometimes sad and sometimes
simple existence, I want it with you
and is that because its simple, it may
have started like that but, please
Plain Joe, you have to know it’s because
I love you too, because there. See that?
It’s my soul and it sings to attract you
like a fluttery winged bird.
November 21, 2012 § 2 Comments
There is nothing.
I can even appeal to logic
I can point out the obvious
and dress up the truth.
I can cajole, act aloof, bring
the bitch out.
He still loves me
and wont be baited.
He wont be rushed to come to
my foregone conclusions.
He wont jump from outcrop to outcrop with me
but shouts from the top of his tower,
the tower I describe,
draw attention to with sticky, outstretched fingers.
It’s all there.
It’s all there except the true name.
like a good girl should.
why don’t you
be the man
I know you are…?
There IS nothing.
This is true.
I just didn’t know nothing included you.
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’…
November 13, 2012 § 1 Comment
You can pick one in this life.
You can pick one and have that one.
If something comes, if someone comes along, someone who is supposed to be yours, not your wife or husband, but YOURS, that’s different.
It’s hard for the one and for the one who receives the one.
How can you deny yourself me?
Shouldn’t you be SO proud I am yours, so proud someone so talented, smart, clever, loving is yours?
Shouldn’t that surrender feel like the biggest gift you could get?
You’ve tied my hands since.
We can’t talk about it, like what I need that you have given me and hold back from me now.
This is a death, over and over. I don’t know if I should walk away. I don’t want to. The list of things I want…
If I beg here, right here in public, Big Daddy, would you make it all better? Take me back? Tell me you love me and I’m your Baby Girl again?
Because I will. I will beg.
Please Daddy. Please. A million times please.
Know I do not want to replace your true love, know I don’t want to destroy all you have worked so hard for, know the two can exist.
We could have a healthy relationship of no consequence to your marriage.
You think you can just ignore this, that we can suffer thru with the chaste digital existence. That is not living. Denial.
Yes family is so important to you and I…mine…
Maybe you do see what I see or see me as never moving on and always demanding more.
This is not prayer, but a desperate plea that you see me as you were.
You did love me.
November 7, 2012 § 4 Comments
What a darkness
I want you gone
Or never came.
My tortured beauty
Your need to legacize
I’m your daughter
I need you gone
Or never came
When I survive a day
There was no difference
Between us and just
Little old me.
Sometimes I want you
Gone and never came.
Because I love you and
You don’t promise
Anything more than this.
With your blue light
Forget I asked for you
To see my words.
Trap me in silence with vigilance
Can only own and love be
You and me.
So go, go, gone and never’ve come.
Because now I’m
Stark mark and
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.