Egg dances with sperm; a clump of cells grows into a babyme.
Babyme is born and leaves the hospital, with daddy and mommy, just married.
Daddy works at the factory; mommy cooks and cleans,
changes diapers, feeds and cares for babyme.
Birthdays come and birthdays go.
Lots of pictures taken and lots of presents given.
Chubby legs, running, exploring the neighborhood,
Climbing trees, walking through abandoned underground passages,
Digging trenches in the alley from puddles for waterways,
Swinging on the tire swing up the hill,
Taking allowance to the corner store to buy candy,
Playing then fighting with little brother,
Playing for hours in the sandbox.
Picking plums and pears from the trees.
Many trips to grandma and grandpa’s house,
A happy place of coffee, company, and laughter for the grownups,
Cousins to run and play with and a cookie jar I can eventually reach on my own.
Spending days at grandma and grandpa’s
With an older female cousin, grandma’s first grandchild,
Our moms dress us alike, inseparable,
Bathing together, sleeping together under the feather tick
Doing chores, grandma brushes our hair and watches Hawaii 5-0 and Lawrence Welk.
Great Uncle and Great Aunt begin regular visits to our grandparents,
From a farm town 50 miles away
An old barrel-chested, whiskey-breathed, red-faced troll
and his timid red-faced, white-haired wife.
Nobody notices Great Uncle Troll abusing littlegirlme on each visit,
Year upon year, quietly;
screaming on the inside,
Going through the motions
with a dismembered soul.
Teenme arrives on the scene.
Drinking, skipping, experimenting, sassing, running away
A good girl gone bad they say, what a pity.
A soulless puppet, jumping as the strings are pulled
If they could only see the strings.
Adultme struts in, a joint in one hand and a bottle in the other,
bars, dancing, bed hopping, and drugs,
Party friends get paid when they traffick partygirl me (only seen in retrospect)
Hello marriage, picked a tough guy to protect and control this puppet
Within 6 months being battered, bearing children, more being battered.
Hello divorce, work, college, parenting,
Going through the motions, there but not
Still dancing to the strings of the Puppet Master of the Soulless.
Support and acceptance.
Shelter from the Storm.
Step by step on the installation
then cutting of the strings.
Buckets and buckets of tears.
I see now the why and the how
the how to climb up out of the pit
to dance with women who run with the wolves
Soul whispering has called it back to me.
Time to recreate.
3 Comments Add yours
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What a sadly beautiful poem you have written here. So sad to hear of your abuse, especially by a family member. Glad you have found a support group to help you rise above the past and move on to write beautiful poetry here on your blog!
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Thank you for reading, yes, the group helped me regain my soul. I appreciate your kind words more than you know.
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