It is nineteen something,
some sort of fictional scene
played out in a reoccurring dream.
As the sidewalk sunk in,
sending me tripping,
stirring up a cloud of dust
that brings tears that sting.
I know it was just a strange dream,
but I remember being chased.
I recall flying then starting to fall,
and how spikes rose from the ground
while my mother monster pursued me.
Seeking peace, sleep was not an option,
but even in the waking
she was still haunting,
hunting me with her violent outbursts.
I know I was not prey
for her amusement,
but I still wonder
what the abuse meant.
Could I be so bad that she
would even hound me
in my dreams,
that in the hours waking
her thirst for retribution
would be slaked
by slapping my face,
and ripping my shirt?
Then when I got use to
the physical pain she put me through
emotional violence and isolation
became the tools she would use
to ease her frustration.
Whispers of adolescent agony
follow me frightfully,
only dulled now
by the distance of time,
and dreams where
she no longer lurks.