It was spring when the old things get cleared away
and I opened a drawer that was mostly closed now;
in the back was a ring of keys I hadn't touched forever
because the doors they opened were gone.

My first car, a castoff from my father we used in high school
to go to practice, or for hamburgers, or to the movies
in a time when that was the most fun we could have.
I see the boys now, smiling and singing songs you never hear anymore.

The key to my the apartment I had going to school, a little place
I shared with Jimmy Redd just off campus where we
drank, caroused and learned how to cook hamburger helper
between working and going to class.

The key to my first office and the house I bought where
some of my kids lived and I had a future
that was wasted by trusting people whose most important
love was in the mirror every morning

Then there were no keys for years when I could not unlock
the doors I lived behind in places where
the only comfort was a date yet to come as I waited
and the world turned without me, changing everything

Which turned out to be for the best
For the last unused key was to my first home after leaving high school
the place love became real and where the missing part
of me had been waiting through her own trials.

I smiled and held the keys tight then put them back into the drawer
they are not useless as I thought
because the doors they open are those I will
always be able to enter.

Sometimes I dream of scratching and digging viciously at his skin
As if I am trying to take back what I lost inside of him
What he tore away from me without my permission

Four years later and
I still cringe

He was so many firsts
First boyfriend
First 4 hour phone call
First person to see me naked
Undeniably bare and fresh and perfect
My body like an untouched lump of clay
Waiting for his hands to twist, mold, and taint it
First relationship
First time my body was a scale
He was so much weight

He never stopped
Especially after he would hear me utter “no”
He took away so much of me

Compromise was turning off the lights
Shutting my eyes as tight as they could go
Until it was all over
And I could breathe again

What was it that coerced him to finger me under the blanket in front of my siblings?
What was it that compelled him to ignore all of the no's?
What was it that drove him to take me upstairs to my bed while my own grandmother was just a room away and ****** himself inside of me without my consent?
What was it that made his hands cause every single centimeter of my skin to flinch?
Will I ever be forgiven for the sins I did not commit, but unintentionally created?

After it happened
My sanity seemed to be a balancing act
I felt like an old, empty museum
An eviscerated monument
Something that used to hold so much worth
Something that was now meaningless
Futile
And
Disgusting


Shortly after, denial surfaced
It took over and replaced my name
Every single minute of every single day
I was telling myself over and over and over
That it never happened
All in an attempt to make it go away
Doing everything I could to prevent myself
From ever admitting it
Doing everything in my will to forget
But failing so miserably

I called it an armed robbery
As if he could bust through my chest
Tear open my ribs
And steal everything that made my heart dance
And then nail its wings to his filthy trophy wall

For a long time after 
I was careless
A fallen angel
Looking for love
In the same way in which I lost it
Looking for love
In the same way in which I got to know pain and hurt intimately
It was a continuous game of innocence being lost

I was a lost and forgotten treasure
Living in a garden of destruction
Scared and ****** up and doing everything that I thought I needed
Thirsting for all of the medicine that I thought they had

I was stuck in the greatest darkness of my life
As I tried to convince myself that the men I met along the journey
Were my only light
I couldn't help but to seek safety in other people
For it was in another person that I lost all sense of my own security

I was someone who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone
There was constant bloodshed in my head and in my heart

So I did the things I did hoping I could make it all rewind
Go back to the very first day when I wasn't strong enough to get up and leave
After all of my thousands of insistent no's were intentionally ignored and thrown aside

I was disgusted with myself
Constantly putting myself down
Tearing myself apart
From the inside out and the outside in

Most days I would feel ***** (somedays I still do)
Contaminated
Defiled
Repulsive

It was hard to keep praying to someone who had me on hold
When all I wanted was for someone to hold me
Or at the least,
Something to hold on to

I think back and can't help but recall
How difficult it was to breathe in public

I felt hardened
I wanted someone to tell me that it wasn't my fault
To remind me that life is suffering
And existing is a coincidence
And that I am only a witness to half of it

I suppose that intimacy is the art of licking wounds
Because it has taken me years to let anyone kiss me
with my lips chapped
and my body tense
my eyes flitting
and my heart hiding

Four years later and
I still cringe

My father is always talking about how strong I am
He is so proud of my resilience that it sometimes makes me uneasy
He loves to brag about me to other people
Saying that I am capable of anything and everything
All because of everything I have been through and all that I have overcome

But the thing is
He doesn't even know half of it
He has no idea about what happened four years ago
About what continued to happen after that day

Now that time has passed
And I have finally healed (somewhat)
There's no denying that a part of me
Will always ache and burn because of this
But I have realized that
I am not the one who is broken
He is,
The monster who did this to me

And nothing has been stolen from me
Because my body is not a castoff
And there is nothing that sits inside of me
Bearing my worth

There is no trinket that can be seen
Touched
Or taken
****** from my stomach
Only to be left somewhere on the concrete
Or buried deep within a dumpster
And lost forever

Yes, something was seized from me
That I will never get back
But I refuse to watch myself collapse

I have heard that one in three women will be
*****
Or sexually abused
In their lifetime

Well,
I am one of three daughters

Four years later and
*I still cringe

finger flame
lit world
blue and orange and blue

through the fog of fever
and snorker of cold
and gristful mill of herringbow meal

single flame glows
brings us to flesh point
scintillating
tickle-ish
boasting glazed
hearth-rug hair

castoff from chocolate wrapper
and bath salts and flowed floored robe
breath in
chin up
smile and step
for best foot forward

into tinsel
out of wool
from the ****
to the blow
wary fairy
clutching hitman's soft downy
forearm hair

i don't want to read your curious looks
your casual tones, or anything they hint of
i did that once, and look where it got me

i don't want to read your eyes
or the crinkles that come with them
forced happiness hurts both ends, you know

i don't want to read your sighs
castoff glances, held breaths
waiting for something neither of us can place

i don't want to read your anger
the clenching of fists and jaws and hearts
interfering only backfires on me

i don't want to read your absences
how you don't seem to care until you're back
but i always do

i don't want to read your glares
frustration through avoidance, that's what you do
this game's too foolish for me

i don't want to read your heart
it's not written in a language i'd understand
and such is for the better

i don't want to read your scars
i might remember who caused them
and wonder why that who still exists

i don't want to read your memories
they're not the same as mine
maybe they never were

If they want to leave, let them leave.
You are not a cauldron
waiting to be surged with fervors
and then gets bequeathed when castoff.

You are the firestorm—
adorned,
impervious,
divergent,
blazing bright.

Together we shall burn them,
bathe them with our ferocious flames,
and we shall be treacherous.

Without an answer you left me for dead
Alone and disturbed of what I became
My body so limp; a storm in my head
From nightmares I watched it frame by sharp frame

I wish to make you feel and watch your guilt
You are clueless to the destruction caused
My being castoff; erased what was built
Years given in service; future now paused

From blood on stone I stand on weary feet
And watch the heavy darkness turn to dawn
The birdsong is clear, they know and they tweet
It moves within me; a rabbit is born

I’ve come so far and you will never know
What I’m now made of or how much I’ve grown

yes, only the paper will listen when
called upon
for what is a clean sheet but only our reflection
human

it:
crinkles
wrinkles
folds and bends
yellows with old age,
can always be changed
and always constant if unaltered

it:
speaks in words
embraced with lip kisses
can be cherished
can be destroyed
ashes to ashes
just like a human

print this poem:
place it in your everyday purse
of all things valued, kept upon
your person, close by
for comfort
for reflection
amidst the haste

the paper preserves:
your glory
your memory
your secreted confessions,
an exposure of your nakedness
your innermost outermost

the paper is skin:
can be scarred
held close by
shelved to be avoided
shed cells, store cells,
can be blood stained
can keep lipstick witness
dry tears, elicit tears

when we pass:
we leave behind
progeny
objects of valuable
meaningful to our unique
and papers

papers:
of legitimacy
of illegitimacy
of recollections
future predictions
remnants scraps
full books
our product
on this earth

the paper always listens,
patiently awaits our impatience
our truest friend, confidante
who can be confidently be trusted to
reveal our confidences

the clean sheet listens
as we part with thoughts
that can only be entrusted
to ourselves, our limbs
our entirety castoff
our entirety sustained


3:47am 11/29/19

He keeps a flute in his boot.
Plays it for strangers, listens for little crashes of loot.
Sleeps on a stone bench near the ocean.
Sometimes he gets drunk , hollers, causes commotion.
Some days he ***** about
in his loose oversized castoff suit
looking as if he might fly
or cry when the sun shines blindness
across his two *** eyes.
Passersby know not
that once he brought the house down
with Ellington in a jazzy joint in Harlem town.

My love,
the power and protection you provide me makes me quiver when I think of the world around us. Now as we lay here in our bed I think of the danger you pose to those who would ever try to harm me. And as I sleep you lay awake aware of the pain I feel in my heart because of the castoff attitude of the people I've loved and trusted before. But as I dream, I can dream only of your eyes and the warmth and comfort you provide me, the support you give me, and the love I know you feel.

She leaves her walker parked right by the white car door, wheels locked
so it does not wander off.  It gives her the support when she might
suddenly need it when she is all alone, a castoff.

Her home is small and all is in it's place, prim and proper.  She
would not have it any other way.  As she has gotten older and
given charity much, even her tea set and tray.

Her spouse had left her, wasn't his fault, his heart, simply got
tired, with no insurance, without family alone she faced fears,
could not keep the home, there were tears.

That was the not so distant past.

She had all she needed now, she was good at keeping neat
and clean, her clothes and a few belongings always within
reach, hung in place, nothing really new.

She slept little these days, noisy traffic driving by, even
rearranged, her bed was not as comfortable as she once
had.  Times had changed.

She started her day with a wash and a walk.  Brush her
white hair. There were the usual neighbours, who didn't
stop to talk to her, inexcusable!

Recent blunt reality.

Though she could not hide in plain sight,
parking her car in an empty parking lot,
every two hours she must move.

Her home a car, her closet a back seat,
the steering wheel a towel rack,
sleeping more upright helped
her breathing but not her
aging back.

Her possessions and food little
are in the trunk; one in a box
and the other on a chunk
of ice, she does not eat
much and pleasant
memories are
less and less.

Alas, make up takes time,
when the light is fine,
her friends don't
know, she does
not know if
she gets
calls or
letters,

Anymore
in these
declining
times.

i am tired of feeling like i am in last place
i don't know how i will ever be as good as you
everything i try so hard at seems like it comes naturally to you

i am sick of how you take everything for granted
you don't appreciate what you have
i wish for once you could see what it is like for other people

you are so blinded by your own opinions
you have no idea what anyone else is thinking
or what others are feeling

you put yourself first and that's all the matters
others are just collateral damage

i am the collateral damage
i get hurt by you at every single turn
i am pushed behind you like a castoff  
i am never free from you

i just want to be my own person
not constantly comparing myself to you
so just for once notice that i don't have it all
you do

a wisp of wind
russet castoff swirls
waves then falls

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                            Our Lady of the Perpetual Garbage Sale

It’s for the youth

Our parish hall is now a re-sale shop
All full of junk that never goes away
Boxes of videotapes and castoff slop
And smelly clothes that have had their day

It’s for the youth

The Mass no longer ends with “Ite, missa est”
But rather, “After Mass would some of the men…”
Shift the same old debris without let or rest
Sisyphean labors for original sin

It’s for the youth

Fellowship after Mass is tired and pale -
The one eternal is the garbage sale

But it’s for the youth

The course and cause of all equation
is Tomorrow.  And its teeth..
Look at them flooding chalkboards,
like endless petals cut and pasted until the
veins make rhythms the eyes can clerk.
And my pocketful of cherry stems and change,
castoff cogs of Timeworks

Here the flags are made of stone.

The mossy British god holds vigil
from a humbled candle spire,
and the old kit bags,
one by one,
are unpacked.

Grass untrammeled
Lines unbroken
Liquid living spouting life,
reflecting something
more gray than red.

We are each our own cenotaphs,
having lost you,
lost us.

How do we give it all back to you,
you castoff children of hell?

We only know to give it
to ourselves,
and to carve you like Pharaohs
for a while
for a while.

within complex edifice...
derelict hulking corpse delineated courtesy
seared, singed, smoldered smithereens
formerly robust warrior
slain during prime of his life
heavenly corporeal outstanding entity
subjected to fateful foragers
courtesy camping buzzfeeding carrion -
fancy feast for famished
uber twittering, jump/kick starting
crowing angry birds

made short shrift
decayed discarded detritus
filched flesh from felled soldier
denuding human legendary poet
picked bone clean
his once powerful promising physique
skeletal remnants displayed burnt offerings
abandoned sun bleached,
petrified lovely bones
strewn across a field of shattered dreams
desiccated skull detached situated askew

athwart castoff liberated phalanges
impossible mission to envision
former formidable specimen
fallen hero pronounced earthen imprint
traced impression outlining
his outsize stature
bonafide definition where his corpse laid
only memory remains of doodling yankee,
(a Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe)
harkening back and plucked from
the "little town that time forgot
and the decades could not improve."

Composite character sketch
of arbitrary conjured fighting
jaunty opportunistic understudy
strong likely to be template
of actual anonymous template
forgotten in the aftermath melee of battle
subsumed by and belonged to history,
a bit part he played after
North and South pitted against each other,
though the former named Union soldiers
during the War Between the States
acquired many names and nicknames,

especially by the Confederates:
They were called Billy Yank,
blue bellies or blue coats,
which spontaneously generated idea
came to my mind linkedin
to a personal affinity
for aforementioned rebellion to some people
after Confederate troops fired
at 4:30 a.m. April 12, 1861
on Fort Sumter April 1861
initially President Lincoln
described the situation as an “insurrection.”

But within months,
he instead adopted “rebellion.”

That word evoked
a more distinctly negative connotation
then than it does today,
or rather prior to the heavily armed,
Trump-incited mob attack
of Jan. 6, 2021, an attack
(premeditated in my humble opinion)
not just on the U.S. Capitol building,
but also on democracy and the rule of law.

Though at no time did I enlist
in the armed services,
(although after high school
my parents coaxed, goaded,
and loathed their second born
and only son intimating
becoming a nonconformist,
and nonestablishmentarian, ne'er do well,
(which outcome adequately sums
up how mein kampf evolved),
nevertheless yours truly exhibits

psychologically traumatic wounds
synonymous with the horrors of mortal kombat,
and clear out of the blue
behavior associated with deadly carnage
oozed out from every one of my pores,
misleading an observer to deduce
writer of these words experienced
and underwent text book example
being shell shocked
under heavy bombardment.

At present attention of mine plugged into a biography titled Custer's Trials | A LIFE ON THE FRONTIER OF A NEW AMERICA | storied author T.J. STILES, current reading material populates thought processes of mine with trappings of internecine bloodshed forever wrenching fledgling United States of America away from slave holding Southern lifestyle.

Enslaved people in the antebellum South constituted about one-third of the southern population. Most lived on large plantations or small farms; many enslavers owned fewer than 50 enslaved people. Landowners sought to make their enslaved completely dependent on them through a system of restrictive codes.

She blew her brains out
Out by the dumpster
The note she left said
She had no one who cared
And she went out that way
Because she didn't want to
Leave a mess for the cleaning lady
I found a bucket, a good bucket
(I think it may have been hers)
Castoff and tossed afterwards
I needed a bucket like she
Needed to have a friend to care
So, now when I use it, I keep her
In my mind and alive,
Although I never knew her