Confession

8 03 2015

When learning how to waterski, I had trouble standing up, and was kinda in a squatting position. It turns out river water shooting up your anus makes a pretty good enema.





Marriage Bed

7 05 2014

Through the velvet darkness
Camels and cheap beer on my tongue,
Bring me back to pain
I turn my head but you grabbed me back

 

The weight of your fat body I once loved
Now grotesque
Crushes my breath
Vice around my throat
I’m forced to swallow

 

The warm coat of black velvet washes over me
I know I’m not safe,
But here, ignorance is bliss

The struggle and agony inside my body
Lifts the curtain

 

I see my hands bound;
A knot at every eight
The dearest brown scarf
Tiny woven diamond bulls eyes
A thousand tiny eyes
Witness my torture

A thousand tiny eyes
Know the truth
No black velvet to shield them
They saw all
Every tear, every plea

 

The darkness took hold his eyes
That were once so full of life.
Making me believe in evil.

 

A thousand tiny eyes
Stare stone silent shaming
A whimper comes forth
Why are you doing this?

Because, I love you.

 





Mistake

7 05 2014

You drove home
One more drink?
We talk theology
Passion rises as we kill our god
Minds expand as the night wanes
Falling into one another
I go to kiss you on your cheek
Your head turns
Ecstasy began
It was a dream so good
Better than it’d been in a long time

The sharp morning light
Cuts into my head
But your shadow
Still laid inside me
I open my eyes to kiss my husband

But you were there instead.

 





The Circle

18 04 2014

When I was in seventh grade I was on the cross country team. Competition was awful, but running was therapeutic. Our practice was after school just like the football teams. There were four seventh grade football teams, and three eighth grade teams, so something close to a 100 adolescent boys in unstoppable gear. They were armored compared to my wind shorts and running tank.

One time a circle of them came up, surrounded me, closed in on me. They started grabbing me. I kept spinning and trying to hit them, scratch them, anything. Their suits and gear made it impossible for me to cause pain- they just laugh at me. I try to join in the laughter, pretending that I wasn’t terrified, but I could feel my mask slipping.

Other students stood outside the circle, some encouraging their behavior yelling, “get her”, some watching silently. I could see other girls engaged their own cruel flirting games.

Finally Ben Collins* came up and broke up the circle. He was big for his age and in my math class. He told them to leave me alone. I thanked him, he looked disappointed and asked, “Why do you let them do that?”

A shift happened inside of me that day.

* I changed the name to protect the person who did this. 





Landscape

21 02 2014

This is a poem that I wrote for an online intensive that I did Called Digging Deeper Facing Self.  That was probably one of the best ways I could have started the new year, so now today I am trying to keep up with the good habits that I formed, even if it took a few weeks to get back at it.

Landscape

 

Tall Piney woods
Sway full-bodied in the wind.
The shadow of steeples always near
The dull, low, murmur of the prison count siren.
A giant blowing into an old glass bottle

 

Day in, day out surrounded by walls
The forest
The church
And prisons.

 

Preachers and Teachers are my people
Baptists as far back as I know
Proud people
Godly folk
Not ashamed of the twang in their voice,
Or the Bible that nuzzles up with the gun in the glove compartment.

 

Poor wandering preacher
A young wife who left school to fulfill her duty
Two small kids: boy, girl
Three hostages bound by holy matrimony. 

 

How often was my father told to be a man,
As tears from pain welled in his eyes?

 

A small boy
Beaten, switched, belted, and probably worse.
Did Grandad quote scripture,
While he whipped?
Or did the demons of his past take hold
And his eyes glaze over
The way my father’s later would?

Did the churches know?
Were there whispers at potluck?
Is that why he fled?
Church to church,
Was help ever offered to the poor wife?
Or did she have to make the bed,
She chose to lie in?

 

Only the boy was beaten
But all were terrorized.

 

I wonder what advent was like in that house
What did the Christmas tree look like?
Did my grandma play piano and warble Oh Holy Night,
While my dad and aunt hung the ornaments?

 

Father was always warm on Christmas morn.
We’d eat the sticky buns my mom had prepared
Sometimes though I’d see sadness in his eye

 

He did his best to break the cycle,
I think.
Sometimes it’s hard to say that:
My sister, screaming, beneath his bare back
Him holding her with one arm,
And the ping-pong paddle
Breaking across her back.
Not all his demons were mastered. 

 

I was so young;
My fear was born that day.

 

But Baptists are if nothing else,
One’s to forgive (on the surface at least)
Recommit to God
Atone, atone, atone for their sins
For all have sinned
Fallen short
Wanting, glory.

 

You don’t have to be re-baptized
That’s not strictly allowed
Once saved always saved
Whether you like it or not

 

So one day in Paradise
I guess I’m doomed to walk
Side, by side,
The miserable manipulative Abuser
That created my father. 





Why I hate Paul

30 01 2014

I hate Paul. Paul is in many ways one of the first Christian theologians. I know that he’s considered scripture and all, cannon what not. But, let’s be honest here, a hallucination is not walking around with the guy you claim is god. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not back on the Christian band wagon, I’m merely stating that other people that are in the christian canon have a better claim to the words of christ, and god’s will and what not. 

 

I hate paul. I said that already, oh I’m sorry, but I’m going to make myself clear. I. HATE. PAUL. 

There are many, many reasons I hate Paul, but it wasn’t until recently that I had an epiphany as to why. 

It’s pretty simple really. That verse Philippians 2:3 “Do not act out of selfish ambition or conceit, but with humility think of others as being better than yourselves. ” NIV, not that any of the other versions are better, they’re all a pretty shitty concept, really. 

Here’s the thing. That verse, was POUNDED into my head, it was in the very core of my being. And I do not doubt that there was some infinitesimal amount that did have a positive effect, maybe. BUT. Consider this: if one grows up in an abusive environment, and is told by the one who is the source of terror, that you should consider other’s better than yourself. Others would include the one who causes terror. The abuser. 

So, my dear friends, imagine then, how it is that you feel about yourself, when you realize logically (considering the situation) you are therefore, worse than those who cause you fear. You are worse than the ones who make you afraid that they might harm you, your pets, or others out of blinded rage, a rage which you have no idea what will set it off. 

So if that person is better than you. What does that make you?  

And I wondered why for so long I had no self worth. 





On Loss

30 01 2014

 

One fine day in the final semester of my undergrad, my beloved gentle giant of a mentor called his wife excited to go teach the class he had always wanted to teach, told her he loved her, then fell to the ground, dead. I remember how appropriate it felt when the storm clouds rang for days after, but then how cruel it felt when the sun shone bright again.

I learned a lot about myself that day, that week.
In the end; death always survives. But life is always reborn.