(The following includes content that some may find offensive or disturbing).
I.
I Won't Leave Me
Can you help me with my problem?
No ...I don't really want to help you; I only
want to feel ok myself ....
What's wrong with that?
I don't know really; you tell me.
I heard a woman telling what happens to a child who is molested ....
They are "eroticized" she said-
I said, Oh- so that's what it is called and after all these years
I finally know a word for what I felt when I was swept out of myself into mystery and being one with an adult
It made me different- somehow -
I knew that much anyway!
So can you help me?
No .... I don't care about your old, old problem ...
I just want a lover now, you see ...
But I freeze up sometimes - when
I feel betrayed by unmet promises and failed anticipation - and
I freeze up solid, heart beating in fear, my stomach
retching - full of helplessness & rage
and such deep sadness -
Can you help me? No - I can
help myself. And so I will.
II.
Nobody's Baby
She was nobody's baby in the morning when her mom
just needed sleep and so they gave her a bottle
on a pillow and left her by herself ....
She was nobody's baby in the daytime
when the rugs had to be cleaned and
the furniture all dusted spic and span
Nobody's baby when the sun went down
and they saw each other, putting on a show – to make him stay
except he never, never did or if he did, he didn't want to ....
And so she made a sobbing vow to always be nobody's baby when she grew up and so
she lived inward like a monk & occasionally gave in screaming and crying in a memory of all
her angry time alone for no good
reason - just excuse after excuse.
Who cares?
She doesn't care ....
It's much, much more than
caring that she feels -
She boils or she freezes but
she doesn't ever, ever care . . . . She can't afford to care -
and feel soft feelings
soft as a baby's whisper
or a need to snuggle and be safe....
III.
My Dolls Committed Suicide
When I was three years old, I had
a teenage lover - my own good-looking brother who I loved and
learned to associate
the feeling of excitement with his smell of sweat
dark rooms and keeping it a secret - even from myself ..
Except the sex was too much of a secret for me to keep my body acted out & so
my father tried to kill him - as a friendly act toward me....
It didn't feel friendly though - and then my brother went away
my father had a heart attack and I
was left a widow at age three- with no one to console me
and I clung to my secret hoping that it would all turn out all right,
somehow -in a fairy tale - the "happily ever after" part - as a child I didn't know how vain a hope that was and no one helped me to find out.
I felt so sad I ripped the little heart out of my Raggedy Ann; my china baby finally smashed herself and died on the cement.
It's a sad story, isn't it - and all of them dead now -
and me - not dead, not even dying - not even sad or sorry for the life I've had so far-so far, so exciting and so powerful a life ..
All's well that lives in spite of history and fears no pain - Pain's not so bad without the fear of it
And all things have an end ....
Kathleen S