Tag Archives: trauma

abbey national

my health, my health
your kingdom for my health.
I gritted my teeth for so long
that they have become sand,
and I am not a liar,
so I will not deny that I pray
for your body to be cystic,
anxious, cancerous, unappealing.
I don’t believe in god at all,
yet I clasp my hands to my face
like a raggedy Carmelite
cloistered in my living room.
at least I have a living room-
where do you imprison yourself?
you don’t believe in anything but
your own superiority.
hopefully that will be your
encrusted downfall,
an intellectual toaster
in the bath, as you scream
“this cannot happen to me!
I read Vonnegut!”
my anger has turned into a
hot spare tyre.
of course, I cannot
scream in Abbey National
or the Docklands arena
or the Blockbuster Video
like my Divine mother
once did.
I just swallow the burning.
the sand in my mouth helps.

ctrl + p

i love you so much
you are so special
i have never felt this before
you make me feel
you have taught me how to feel
(no words, silence at 4am, staring at the ceiling while a man sleeps)
i am so sorry
i’m sorry
but i know i won’t hurt you again
i would never hurt you
you have to trust me
you can trust me
why do you hate men
you read too many books
that’s not fair
(no words, silence as a chest repeatedly slams into my face)
i promise this won’t happen again
i don’t know why i did it
you’re so amazing
you’re strong
i didn’t mean to
i love you so much
wow you’re so sexy
you’re strong
i’m not a rapist
i would never do that
how could anyone do that
you made me feel like i’m a rapist when you told me to stop
i would never do that to you
(no words, silence as my head is pushed downwards)
i’m sorry i pushed you
i’m sorry i did that
i don’t know why
i don’t know why
i don’t know why

they never know why
none of them ever fucking know why

sky

it hurts to look up to the sky
into that deep
perfect infinite blue of the universe
why do my eyes ache in the light?
I wait for an answer,
and turn towards it anyway.
the power of victim is strong
and sticky,
but I know
as the sun wrings tears from my eyes
that it is not more than the
power of truth.
the power of perfect is strong
and incorrect.
a vision of material attainment
burns holes in my soul –
and that is just,
despite the child’s protestations of
need and want and why.
new beliefs are delicate like
virgin shoots from the ground
and the galaxy eyes of newborns.
and samely, bring the deep
joy of reality.
I am still healing,
still connecting to the gratitude strand
that ties the experiences of cruelty together.
without loss
I could not be me
and the time that I screamed against
all that I was
is over.
into the stars, or the sky, or the eyes of
newborns, the fresh shoots of spring
or the dying leaves of winter;
I allow the ache in my eyes,
and I live.