Covering

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Joy feels like exposure to the harshest elements.
In showing it you become a pawn
in the game of advantage
like taken of that is.

Allowing happiness to make an appearance,
well, that’s just a sin.
“Be humble, accept things with grace,” they said.
As they shushed my feelings out of jealousy.

Feeling like a kernel doubling in size,
well, that’s just ruinous.
“Let’s not have a grandiose, public display,” they said.
As they swatted my butt out of anger.

Having intensity acknowledged on the surface,
well, that’s just suicide.
“Behave yourself!” they said.
As they locked me away with a pious vengeance.

Where did it ever get me to give a voice
to what bubbles up happy tears and excitement?
Hide your feelings, stomp them down reactions was all I ever got.
Because no one really wanted to meet the real me.

At The Heart Of It

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the calamity
weighed down
forcing
the innards
out

revealing
wounds
unleashing
the crying girl
in the corner

where she’d long
swallowed
the grief
fear and shame
the lakes of tears

the eruption
of emotions
expanding
her chest cavity
burgeoning

so much
pain
pain
pain
and more pain

murky depths
led
to the dark matter
filling
the hole within

the rage
agitated hate
the injustice
trapped
and bubbling

the fear of implosion
imminent
the voices
of the past
scolding

an excruciating wait
for the release
from
this
hell

Broken From Birth

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the anger in youth
is palpable
truth met with silence
acceptance non-existent

the anger in relationships
continues on in years
one failure after the other
blame with shame

the anger at oneself
clung to for so long
it’s sickening
it’s heart-breaking

… it’s got to change

 

The Moon Shone

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If only the window would break
so I could fall away
from this midnight distress
of heavy breathing
laden with bourbon

If only I was not petrified
of what could
happen next
of what might
be my agony

If only this man
kept his hands
and his mutterings
of his wife’s failings
to himself

If only I was bigger
stronger
less frightened
when his hand clamped
down on me so hard

If only I was older
and knew what to do
beyond shaking
smiling glazed
and going numb

If only the moon
didn’t highlight
the deed
whitewash the evil
occurring below

If only the moon could save me

Innocence Damaged

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Fear, shame, and guilt packed onto the frail frames of children.

Bruises are the accessories of their souls.

Innocence wiped from the faces of angels.

Harshness becomes the norm, thriving isn’t an option.

At least not for a while, more likely much longer.

Tasting freedom with the coming of age, finally.

But darkness from the past continues to weigh heavy.

Their existence tainted still.

Mental anguish persists from pain doled out by monsters of the past.

Fear, shame, and guilt still trapped deep.

Intensely alone with their damaging construct.

It’s still survival mode.