As soon as

I dislodge from this crushing train wreck
Untangle the wreckage
Get out from under this tram.
Waiting for cutting tools,
Jaws, pliers, gaffs
Within this wreckage
I am
In pieces
Broken
Small
Disfigured
Maimed permanently
Yet not fatal
I'll find the tools
To release the metal carcass
Embedded within my soul
Perpetrated, pinned against my body
And then
Dear friend
You shall know
Of who I truly am
And of the dozer, the train,
The 12 ton, that hit me
Never swerving
Mish mash
She takes a gasp
Removing one plank
One fistfull of bolts
One ten yard cubic foot
From her throat.
For it's in the telling
That the weights are lifted
Its in the awe of dark night
That she wriggles free
Plight by plight
Will she escape
All of his sins?
Time will tell
With a hefty dose of brandy
And a gallon of pale ail.
God, you should know her,
She her strength,
Internal resolve.
You'll like her
In the place past
The chaos and tears.
You'll admire her
Once you hear
Of her hell.
You'll weep for the child
No one cared for
Or called their own.
She was bait, a pawn,
A broken, malfunctioning toy
Destroyed by evil men
Over and over
And over once again.
Can you see her
Buried there
In the paltry moonlight?
One of these days
She shall cry out with might
And cease to be
The mangled body
Under the train

Someday, maybe

Searching for words

She vainly searched for words in the abysmal black of the chaotic night twisted, withering, juxtaposing slightly out-of-reach like a whisper glowing a stones throw away as if you could grasp it by reaching under the chair, beneath the layers of gum, guck and ooze, pry it loose from betwixt the reinforced planks, scour the garbage bag, spread contents onto floor, pick with tweezers one micron at a time, somewhere in that vast library we call "mind", amongst the volumes shredded, torn and wisping about,... are the words for the tumultuous
The abomination.   The seering pain where nagging doubts curl up to die and the displaced tricycles are laid to rest.
Somewhere she will find the words, though they claw at her hand and make her skin bleed. Ya, she will find them, whip them, gnash them and nail them to the wall.
Someday
Some day
You will hear
And wish you hadn't
Hear all the words
She has to say

Truth

Speaks in silence,
In the hush before dawn,
Within the pause as I turn the page
Amongst the grainy feel
Of the wall.

My truth is
A lasso around my neck
Threatening to choke
If not allowed to be free
For I would drown
Deep within sorrows pain
If I didn't speak out
And let the truth reign.

My truth shall not hurt thee
As unbelievable as it be,
For my truth and yours
Are not brothers be

Your father was not mine.
Mother bore you
Yet, not quite I
Separated at birth
Unadoptable waif
Swept under rugs,
Into corners,
Stuffed in closets,
Buried within shoes,
Toward the toe
But always a heel.
A sole in a world
Of bare feet, barebacks,
And dad reads the paper
Next to the ashtray,
The Marlboros, lit,
Smoking, ashing
Here, ashing there,
Snuffing out the butt
Onto his daughters chest.
It burned
No one cried
Foul
Or
Stop.

Truth
Is an ever smoldering flame
Extinguished
Rendered harmless, inert
Only with the telling
Dare she
Find words?

Let the child scream, man
Just let that child wail and scream,
She's suffering in dare
She be sufferin'
Oh my Lord

My Therapist Hears the Craziest Sh*t

Unfortunately for me, it's all true.

At Night

At Night, thoughts become clear, unmuddled as if I extricate myself from what the outer world wishes me to be. Softness flows down dreamy rivulets where once sweat strode. Daytime armor is shed with the anxiety of social interaction and societal expectations. In three words, "I am free."
I'm a snow white dove aloft, soaring without restraint. I'm the downtrodden peasant that can freely weep my distress and safely discharge my heavy, cumbersome burdens minus any fear of reprisal or whip. Furrowed brow lightens and painted smile wiped clean. I am free to show my pale, fragile, scarred skin. My expedited pace slows to a leisurely saunter. No knife at my back, nor carrot dangling above my nose.
The ancestral noose has dissolved into innocuous threads falling through splayed hands. Long sought safety, the restorative joy of silence, soothe me as no lover can.
I exalt the night as I move, heal in claritys' light.

I'm no fun. Bitter

Therapy today. Spent most of the time talk about the sexual games, my father taught me, to amuse and please his friends. Yeah, I'm not really interested in your tv show, ya know?