Creativity

Girl

My youth was short. While others count
Their early years as twenty five, mine number
Roughly twelve. And these dozen
Were always overshadowed by the need to do
Better, as if his praise were some prize to be earned.
Well I grudgingly received it - and more
That I didn’t ask for. Who would,
Knowing that which would come?
And I had never even thought of it.

Little more than a child. Surely the
Earth herself cried out at my violation.
For twelve full months his twisted superiority
Defile me. Even while evidence of womanhood
Was written in blood on me, the demand would come
And the humiliation would make my mind
Squirm and twist and writhe as my body on
Those night, for the full year that my father
Genteelly relieved my mother of the task of tucking me in.

Obviously there are scars - mental ones I should say.
Yet there are nights when my mind still
Bolts from side to side, eyes rolling frantically
And the cry of "Mum!" stilled on my tongue.
A good friend wrote, "Living like this, you exist in a prison
Of your own making, structured from snow and ice
And steel. There is no hope where there is only stone.
I believe that there is nothing to restore
Your violated spirit. Yours as ever, John."

Such concern! Tears threaten. Was I right?
Or did I have none? Last night I killed my father.
It was easy. While he was looking down from
The parking lot, I hit him with the bottle,
Pushed him over the edge. There was no-one
In the street. I took my car and left
By the automatic gate. So easy! Even if
They catch me, I do not care. There is the gun for me.
And yet I’m plagued by doubts - was this quick murder justice?

No, it was not -
He should have died in hours of agony.

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Acid Reign

The girl lies in bed and the taste of fear lingers on her tongue.
The scent of blood attends her and she trembles in the absence of the sun.
She clenches every muscle as she waits for the assault to begin.
She’s wrapped up in the blankets but it’s no use ‘cause it’s here inside her skin.
As the darkness closes in, fifteen years are slowly stripped away;
She’s falling back through time, head over heels, day by day.

Like a poisonous plant under an acid rain,
The feeling grows in her again and again.
The rage rises inside her to block out the pain.
But she bows her head as she feels the shame.

The footsteps mount the stairs. She knows that sound, she knows it well.
The door creaks open. She starts her nightly descent into hell.
The song echoes inside her. Like a mantra she repeats it every day.
Hoping it will ease the pain that never goes but only fades away.
She’s alone inside her head, alone in a group of all her friends.
She’d give anything to touch someone, but this isolation never ends.

Like a poisonous plant under an acid rain,
The feeling grows in her again and again.
The rage rises inside her to block out the pain.
But she bows her head as she feels the shame.

She wakes every morning wishing she had died. She sets the clock for five.
So that she can have more hours in her body pretending she’s alive.
Mother said that there’s no monsters in the dark, no need for tears or fright.
But she knows that there’s one monster and her mother feeds him dinner every night.
The ice invades her heart as she wills her body not to feel.
Fifteen years later she will understand that time does not heal.

Like a poisonous plant under an acid rain,
The feeling grows in her again and again.
The rage rises inside her to block out the pain.
But she bows her head as she feels the shame.
Daddy said that she must take the blame.
Now she’s out of the ice and into the flame.
She knows every time that it’s all the same,
She’s alone in the dark again and again,
Again and again,
Again and again.

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Haunt

Haunt -v. visit a place regularly, frequent or be persistently in a place, be persistently in the mind of.
-n. a place frequented by a person, a place frequented by animals for food and drink, a feeding place. (The Concise Oxford Dictionary)

When ghosts exist too long, they walk unquiet.
Phantasms colonise my mind to taunt.
Too many ghosts can cause a spirits’ riot:
far better yet to let them out than haunt
me with their endless games and chatter. Yet
each falls quiet as the time to exorcise
draws closer, to persuade me that they’ve left.
But they live on in yet another guise.
Thus Pain will pull on Anger’s shoddy clothes,
whilst Guilt arrives in dark Depression’s gown.
But I’ll seek those I’ve come to know and loathe.
For I know "haunt" can also be a noun.

I shall refuse to heed their changing faces;
I will expel them from their feeding places.

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The sexual-abuse-help

The sexual-abuse-help is a house made of ice
Where you can see in, but I can't get out.
I stay in the middle of rooms.
I sleep on the rug.
I don't bother beating the walls any more.
My hands blister on the frozen blocks.

The sexual-abuse-help is a rose made of blood
Which I wear on my jacket every day.
The copper scent sickens me.
I try to put my identity there.
My hands come away guilty.
Bloodied, full of shame.

The sexual-abuse-help is a bed made of wire
On which I have said goodnight to sleep.
Rest is a balancing act.
I turn until the wire binds me.
I try to take my lover's hand.
My fingers catch on the barbs.

The sexual-abuse-help is a tree made of fire
Where my words flutter but cannot perch.
My tears can't put this fire out.
My lips seal with the heat.
The tree drops curses of fire on the earth.
My words wither and turn to ash.

The sexual-abuse-help is a breath made of ash
On which I choke and struggle to swallow.
The ashes fill my stomach.
I gasp and gasp until the dust fills me.
My words become grey and lifeless,
Bloated and washed of colour.

The sexual-abuse-help is a love made of rage
In which I burn and burn again.
My desire sickens me.
I reach for my lover in the dark
Then turn away, closing in on myself,
An ammonite in its shell.

The sexual-abuse-help is a life made of pain
In which I have learned to take what's there.
The scales never balance.
I exist in the moment.
My comfort comes when it will.
I resist, resist, resist.

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Revenge

I've sought for years to find the perfect way -
I can't rely on karma, or on law.
A civil suit would probably cost me more.
I know there is a way to make you pay.

And money wouldn't take away my pain,
Publicity would probably be fleeting.
I could arrange to have you take a beating;
But you would not be covered with the shame.

I'll bide my time and let my anger grow.
In darkness I will raise the poisoned crop.
In time I'll give you every bitter drop -
I hate you and I'll never let you go.

I'll make you taste my every hurt and fear.
My voice a ghost to whisper in your ear.

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In Dreams

The cast of my dreams change their skins
to fool me

Walkng, talking, living
as the borrowed heads upon their shoulders
but I scratch the surface
and find a different animal beneath

dreaming I'm betraying you now
with another man
but the other man is not the other man
and you are not you
here I am, reliving a past betrayal

and here you are hurting me
with words, with fists
but you are that older lover
who took such delight in my flesh
that he could not bear but rip it

and always daddy returns
in different disguise
hiding inside my mother, my sister
he's inside me -
I cannot breathe -
and I'm hurting my son
making him to do things I was made to do -
Got to get daddy out of me, got to cut him right out -

Blood
Blood in my mouth
Blood on my clothes
Blood on the sheets

Making for the surface of the dream
huge strokes but my arms leaden
broaching the surface like a whale
and gasping in the air, the reality

You make me coffee and a cigarette
"It's just a dream"

But in there somewhere
is a part of me that's still
naked bent over the stool in daddy's workshop
waiting for his hands
he wearing his face
I in mine

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