memories like an ax to the head

as a punishment
my stepfather used 
to make me pull the bamboo shoots
out of our side yard

a sad patch of dirt
near the shed door

i was a sickly child
with diseases unknown
to the doctors at the time

i wore my melancholy 
my sickness was an 
the ever present
 ghost i was willing 
to become to save my 
mother

i want you to know
i succeeded at nothing
i saved no one
not even myself

i want you to know
bamboo is  stubborn
it grows in the cold
rocky soils of small town Maine

i used to be a sad child that
had hope
for a future
now i am just another mother
lost in the anger 
of another cruel man

he has my daughter now
and all i can see 
is me with my crippled 
12 yr old wrists
kneeling in the dirt and rocks
struggling to pull bamboo shoots
i never did a good enough job
or so my stepfather told me

i was too busy fantasizing about the shed door
being a portal to another world
where i could be happy

i pull the bamboo shoots
 but they keep growing

my stepfather sits in his recliner
drugged up on pain pills
and yells at me to sit on his lap
light his cigarette

i see the dead
rolling in their graves
from regret
abuse 
and sadness

i see my future
in his cigarette smoke
the blue light
of the never ending tv
is another ending

my mother is drifting away
 in another room

my daughter
will be born in trauma
this story never ends
 
angry men 
sad women
children that pay the price

she grows like the bamboo
and he is pulling her out by the roots
i am watching the shed door
waiting for it to open
the dead are screaming 
help

it's always the mother's fault 
 the father doesn't count
when it comes to the blame 
of the pain
​but he should

when i found out my father died
​i smiled
because i knew what he did to my
mother
what he did 
to me

i want you to know
he was a criminal
that didn't suffer enough
for the pain he caused

i will feel the same way about 
my stepfather

i will feel the same way 
about the father of my child

when they come to me
with ghostly regrets
i will pretend they don't exist
just like they did to me

my father nearly murdered
a couple
beat the shit out of my mother
raped teenagers

and when he died 
he came to me for forgiveness
i made him live every memory
of pain he caused 
and i had to relive it through
his eyes
the suffering was worth it


i didn't move him on to a higher plane
i gave him the darkness he gave others
his soul will never rest
there is no excuse

the court system fails 
women and children
from prolonged abuse
so much abuse as a child
made it so i see the dead

everyone was afraid of my shitty dad
and now as he drifts in the never ending
darkness of the pain he has caused so many
he is afraid of me

i became friends with the darkness
just so i could navigate 
my nightmares
my shadows worship me now

we are coming
for the liars
the abusers
the ones who take children's innocence
and look the other way

i see your future
i collect the lost souls
of assholes like you

i never went to prom
had some shitty abusive boyfriend
so young 
so lost
that his excuse for love
was enough
is still no excuse 
i am ashamed of
what i have endured

i found my voice too late
my demons are taking me to homecoming
too late
this gown woven of shadows
and pain is heavy
my crown hurts
memories like an ax to the head
my blood is invisible

this poem is for all the women
who tried to make nice
and fucked themselves over

this poem is for my seventeen yr old
mother who thought love was
being wanted and had me because 
she wanted to be loved

this poem is for my daughter
who doesn't know me
or her family history
who is making the same 
mistake i did
trying to be perfect
pretending all is well
when all is very wrong
protecting a father
who doesn't deserve 
the title

this poem is for the dead
women who have warned me
because they don't want to see
another child losing a mother
or a mother losing a child
or another abusive man getting
away with it

this poem is for the mother ghosts
you know who you are
you know the sadness you keep
the children you have lost
the children you tried to save
only to sit at an empty table
remembering how
you gave part of yourself
and it never came back
and no one understood
and other woman that did
pretended they didn't because
these masks we wear are so very
important

those birthday parties like a contest because you wanted
to your child to feel loved because you didn't
those goodie bags that were supposed to mean something
because you came from a small town and didn't know these things
your child doesn't remember any of those birthday parties

i remember
my dad dealing drugs 
on my weekend visits
the only thing he ever gave me
was a whiskey flavored ice cream cone
and a giant unicorn he threatened
a carny for 
he told me not to trust anyone
and my mom did too

you think you have found yourself
you do art to feel good
but you don't feel good
this is just another outlet
another pretty birthday party
you call art
that won't be remembered

your heart is broken
you have accepted sadness
grief 
loss 
is the only language
you will ever be able to understand

your empathy doesn't matter
 you did attachment parenting
and it doesn't matter
you watched your best friend die
and it doesn't matter

nothing matters
so you watch the dead
as they remember 
these same feelings
your job is sifting
through the discarded memories
of the dead and helping them
move on

but you can't move on
you always go back
to that day
your mother crying
because the court ordered
that you as a toddler visit 
your murdering father in prison

you wanted to protect her
you felt his lies when he spoke
you remembered how he beat
your mother

when you look away from your
mother's tears
you see your future
the scars you will  inflict
upon yourself

your daughter will look
like your mother 
look like you
she won't understand
the danger she is in
you won't know 
what to do 
and eventually you will stop
thinking about joy
you will stop hoping
that things will be different

your life will just
be a war story
without any glory

the dead will haunt you
you won't sleep
and when you do
you won't be able to decide
if the nightmares are worse
then your waking life








​