Fear, Fear, Rage, Rage

She Blocked the way.

I knew once I was passed

Her I know freedom.

Although, I feel I am always

An adult, even as one eleven-

Year-old, she never and still is

Not.

 

I’ve had dreams of her

Passing away, oh, but –

That is slightly lying.

I’ve had dreams of me

Killing her, with a knife

And her stabbed in the core.

I’ve had her really I pushed her

Down the fucking stairs.

She has punch and kink and

All of those things, and I gave them

All back. One hundred percent,

Though I now call them “Dreams.”

 

She, well, now the only SHE, I can

Actually CARE about is me – the little

Girl in me, who always wanted a mom.

Although she never was able to have one,

Since her blood mother was evil, and kind-less,

There was also a mother figure, always around.

And besides, I am also a beautiful mother

Of my own, little girl, in me, although, there is

No conception.

 

I am no Mother Mary. I am simply a lover.

I love myself, no matter what, even through

Ugly evil and pain inflicted on me as a helpless

Little person.

I am touching contact with the rage in me,

And I hit things, with a new foam bat, a baseball

Red bat for kids.

I needed one, I still am inside that old angry,

Incensed little girl, ready to punch your eyes,

Kick your heels, and generally, just Fuck you up.

 

I was always happy and full of love,

And at home, always miserable, neglected, angry.

Full of rage, I thought was gone once I grew up,

And now living with my parents, incensed again,

I actually AM grown up, and how beautiful a feeling

It is. I am learning how to handle myself, and say no.

I am learning that hitting your mother’s bed with new

Red, foam bat, is exhilarating, and feelings rage, and then

Severe hurt, will emerge, then with tears, and afterward:

Exhilaration! Freedom! From deadly anger’s grasp.

I may not have had a loving mother, there was, however,

A large female human being who betrayed and hurt me,

Again and again, and tries so much still to hurt me today.

I release that pain, therefore, she has no power.

I am full of powerful love. Love love is always the answer.

Happy mother’s day. I’m better mother than I was, and

Have ever known! I love you.

5/11/13

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3 Responses to Fear, Fear, Rage, Rage

  1. RisingSong says:

    I am going to assume this is a very personal poem.

    I am sorry about all this pain. Your poem makes me want to touch my heart, say “ouch” and cry. You’ve got the right idea, though. Love and hold that little girl. Be the mother she never had. Be tender and kind to her. These are the things that I am slowly learning to do with my little girl.

    Happy Mother’s Day to you.

  2. blackluminescence says:

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