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From the time I was a little girl,
I feared love.
I had seen my parents fight
and I thought to myself that
no man was worth it.
No man was worth being
slammed to the ground.

As I grew older,
boys tried to pursue me
and I put up my guard,
thinking that if love is
having bruises all over your body,
then I do not want it–
not even a little bit.

However, when you came around
you showed me something new.
Not every man is my daddy.
In fact, you are the man that my
daddy wishes he could be.
All my dad wanted was to show love,
but he never knew how.  

You radiate the sun
and make me feel loved.
You make me feel beautiful
and special and happy.
You are the reason I love
love and I do not fear it.
I crave it.
~WARNING~
VERY ADULT  CONTENT
(please consider before reading)
_

our house was a one-floor white clapboard two-family
it was originally our town’s first school

rose miller was on our party line
sometimes I would listen
and rose would scold
and I would laugh

I loved to laugh

our white-washed picket fence
had a swinging gate

I would swing and swing
and laugh

it was my favorite thing

also the elms and oaks of Perry Street
where we lived

rolling in the gold, orange and red
of their piled autumn leaves
losing my Hop-a-long Cassidy hat
I would laugh until I’d cry
until I’d fly

laughing sent my heart in flight
but the tears were not all tears of joy

the nights of the rains frightened me
I did not laugh

a monster under my bed
does not scare me
because it is not there

it is in my bed

the rain brings it
from the room just down the hall

so I hide inside my fantasies
where it can’t find me

I do not like the rain and wind
or the footsteps

those long-night storms
blew my youth away

for forty years
I searched to find it

I looked for it
in the laughter of my schoolmates
as I acted the fool
disrupting the class
angering my teachers

I looked for it in my teachers’ smile

I was a very bright child
so I found hope and validation
in their recognition and praise
which I so desperately needed

craved

I fought to try to find it
black and blue
and bloody battles

I liked the pain
felt I deserved it

I searched in the sweaty back seats
of flesh-stenched cars
rolling in blue-suede passion
with smooth-ass’d
soft-tit’d
teenaged girls

I searched the ivy’d climbs of academia
looking in the pretty panties
of the trust-fund debs
that roamed those halls

I called out to it
in amplified voice
from strobe-lit stages
strutting and screaming
over the roar of stacked marshalls
and the tie-dyed din
of Aquarius’s chosen children

I probed for it
down the throats
of clutching groupies
gluttonously gaping to gratify
engaged in their own desperate quest

I looked for it in bottles
in the smoke clouds of hash pipes
through the rolled bills
in the pure white snow
of Peruvian flake

I tore life apart
trying to find it

bad marriage by bad marriage
children who too often missed daddy
soured friendship by soured friendship
failed career by failed career

still I rocked
and screamed harder
strutted stronger
and pranced bolder

chasing a higher high
perhaps to spot my lost youth
from such a lofty vantage

when finally I fell
it was a long way down

brutally I careened and crashed
through the barbs of my cruel words
damaging lies

through the carnage
of those who loved
and trusted me

through the charred year’s
of burned bridges

through the shards
of my fractured self respect

to the bitter bottom
the ruin that was me

as I wallowed in my self-pity
my anger
and lost hope
you were there

newly on your path of life
you had reached out to me

in your bright un-jaded eyes
I finally saw a different possibility

I found love and reconciliation

I learned how to forgive
most especially – myself
I found humility
I found honesty
I found a friend

all monsters long subdued
I’ve found my way back
and a reason to come back

back to the sunny side
of the Perry Street of my youth

and swingin'
on that white-washed picket gate
_


rob kistner © 2009
Recommended for ADULT READERS ONLY!
This is a true and unfortunate story of physical abuse being visited upon a child by the live-in, mentally disturbed elder matriach of the family. This was the darker side of 1950's American suburbia, the "don't talk about it" era, when the mental problems of a surviving grandpa or grandma were too embarrassing to acknowledge openly and dealt with effectively. Instead, the troubled elder was frequently shuttered away in an upstairs room or down the hall, and essentially ignored - while their eccentric, often disruptive behavior, was stoically tolerated.
It offers a view of the struggles that a victimized child endured to ultimately get to a balanced, meaningful adult life. This story thankfully ends upbeat.
Derekis 4d
Come see me like the normal man that I am.
Have a good look into these forgotten eyes.

Working on the beauty of bullets in my mind.
Blistering skies, whispering skies.

Cant find me...

Underneath my skin a flare of a violence brand.
Bullets live in the black holes on the wrong side of my face.

Dreading the regrets brought by a steady hand.
Waiting by the altar to pray for the wrong kind of grace.

A quivering echo that was not planned.
Below the dream, teeth and soles lonely stand.

Ready to train.
Ready to maim.
Ready to blame.

Anyone, anything, anywhere,
everywhere, everyone, everything.

Hollow oil in the tips of my aching hands,
come find me and make me the lesser of a beautiful man.

Fun in the gun,
outrun the burn,
hope there is none.

Let me be the worst moral lesson to the common man.
A beautiful man with blood on his hands.

Making these feelings year around and round in a festering sky.
Nothing but the troubles of an old man.

Raise away the razor wire spinning around your neck.
Restoring the hollow idea of a sun to spy.

Ready to break.
Ready to wake.
Ready to ache.

Bullets fall like rain,
ahead of all in pain,
this beauty is not in vain.

You found me.
ANH 1d
I fear that lead incision shattering my skull.
That same poison tradition carried out for centuries before
leaving the disenfranchised with broken homes
and broken graves
to match these broken days.

Executions flash across my screen
day by day
like a sleeping spell
trying to numb my mind to the violence
of trying to live a life.

There is no reason.
There is only bloodshed.
How many are you willing to kill
to protect your pride?

Children's screams land into deaf ears
willing to mock their ghosts with lies.
You still believe the fallacy of the
Freedom of Life
when you're not the one
standing in front of the machine's eyes.

You care more for the machine
than human lives.
One that brings an apocalypse to our kind.

Yet, you never hold the blame.
You blame your victims
for what's happened in their lives
or the state or their minds.

Never that the gunman holds cruel intentions.
Your minds are too fragile to believe
what is truth.

Still bodies lie
With what used to be filled with so much light that
stare in your direction.

And never forget
what role you played
or else they could be
Still alive.
Reach down to my roots
Scraping dirt with your nail
Bite into the squealing vessels
Bleed me till my petals pale

String apart the trembling stem
Let my tears stick on like sap
Flick away the seeds you find
Listen to my warm words snap

Rip the leaves before you leave
Shave the petals crudely off
Squeeze the head until it pops
Relish in my daisy cough

Beat my heart to a pulp in your hands
'Cause my mind, though it weeps, understands,
Without you, trees don't sing poetry
I am yours, bittersweet,

So pick me.
oooh, desperation
Inspired by Sierra Burgess- Sunflower
The street that I grew up in will never know when to stop,
Where the corner store is constantly being patrolled by a cop
Because delinquents always find the need to rob that family owned shop.

See that same shop was the place that my uncle got injured,
And the thought of it in my mind still hinders.
And coincidentally that same year another one of my uncles received a jab,
It was as if those fuckers on my family kept a tab.

years before that my father was out having a smoke
when two men ganged up on him wanting to fight,
My brother and I will never forget that night.

My brother of 10 years of age ran inside to get a knife,
For my father, my big brother was ready to take a life.

Problems would always arise, you never knew when,
I never felt comfortable walking alone because grotesque bastards would objectify me at the age of ten.
I would go to the store to get our necessities and waiting by the door were numerous “men”,
That would say disgusting things time and time again.
... I was only a child then..

I would go home and sit on the floor and just cry,
And I never told a soul why..
These shots were never taken by chance

They were of anger taken under sunshine

This smoke can oh so muddle your view of the truth

They use smoke of their own to hide their intentions



But the truth can be seen rolling by, glinting red

The weapon of black turns their eyes white 

One shines with tears; the other dull and dirty

The greedy man hides the youth of all seventeen



It could have been stopped

And the young could continue

This is preventable

But he continues to enable



His smiles are swamp green

His words are shiny gold

But he hides it all behind his suit of blue
I wrote this right after the shooting in Florida actually happened and poured all of my anger, sadness and fear into it.
Emma Sep 11
Invidious, invective, violent, and vicious

I say that I understand,

but you ignore me when I feel like flaying myself,

and I want to dig my teeth beneath your skin and expose the red threaded muscle beneath,

energy screaming against the sides of my brain.
seethroughme Sep 11
i used you
as a weapon
to beat myself
senseless
until all that was left was
meat
i made you my weapon
and i am sorry
Leavin' aint always gone
Because your soul cries out in confusion
Cries out in anger's anger
Cries out in protest

Leavin' ain't always gone
It's just harder to seek reason
Harder to make insanity sane
Harder to make the wrong right

Leavin' ain't always gone
Because the loss of life opens pain
Opens the past anxiety
Opens healed over wounds

Leavin' ain't always gone
Just finding a new resonance
Finding a new resistance
Finding its strength in numbers

Cause leavin' ain't always gone
When it's buried

For Trayvon Martin
2012
This was produced from my anxiety upon hearing of a young Black man's murder in FL USA
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