10/18/24
My throat is so full.
My jaw is so tight.
My eyes so bright.
Words held back
(way, way back)
So far back that I’ve got some to spare.
How long can I roll with the punches when they never stop?
Even when the assault is over
I’m still ringing like a fucking bell.
And that’s not weird.
I’ve been warned, threatened, admonished not to tell.
That’s why I make sounds and words and images the way I do.
Without drugs. Full of sanity.
Soft rock on the radio
Well on our way to Nana’s house.
Why do we go?
You seem to hate them so much.
I can feel that like red-hot pokers in my ribs.
Or, spit in my face.
Makes me so tight.
I can’t go there anymore.
I got tired of the threats to damnation.
Dante couldn’t get past nine.
The rest is sugar on top.
All to pretend I was a Christian
… and good.
I never learned how to be good. Or Good.
That was just for you to feel better about yourself.
What did it all do?
I fucking hate soft rock,
and I’m certainly not a Christian.
Or good, I guess.
Didn’t even know that deal was sealed
When you left me with the Pastor,
Or those weird babysitters,
Or my father.
Or sister.
Or brother.
I was told to hide myself
in a home that was safe. So safe.
Filled with landmines.
Took me to family stuff
told me everyone was my enemy
Do you have any idea how that feels?
A lot like getting your throat ripped out.
Or gripped too tightly.
Wasn’t that my fault?
Or did it never happen?
– Aric B
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