Have You Faced It?

*TRIGGER WARNING*

The following works contain content that relate to cultural and sexual trauma that may be triggering, emotionally distressing or disturbing to the viewer.

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Oh, child of mine, 

born of death and abuse. 

Dwelling within my cavernous womb, a ghost.

Conceived of torture and dead by the same method. 

 

I create and birth the pure embodiment of primal rage. 

Forever filled with a toxin flowing in my blood. 

Each moon gracing me with with the power of remembrance. 

 

Oh, Mother, 

hold me within your Grand Arms of thorns. 

You are The House, you are The Barn, you are The Womb, you are Creation, 

and Creation is unending suffering. 

 

Raise me to the peaks of pain and drop me in the oceanic depths of pleasure. 

I am worthy of only the small joys I labor and toil for. 

I promise to be grateful.

 

I find only hope in the shimmering and sparkles of starlight glistening over gore. 

The flattened faces of my forest-friends strewn out across hot asphalt. 

The bald of my head reflected in a shattered mirror spread over carpet. 

 

A man, 

all the same man, 

with different faces, 

and the same hands as each doctor who’s touched me, 

grasps my throat, 

and strokes all the life out of me while filling me with his own. 

 

Broken and bed bound. 

 

Oh, Grandmother, 

who faced the same star written destiny as I. 

Birthing a babe blue and dead, 

but resurrected to live. 

 

May we suffer together.

I permit your dead spirit to puppeteer my walking corpse.

A storm brewing of revenge, 

we will seek out God and kill Him in the name of our losses. 

 

All I have now is my emptiness. 

It’s taken on a form that threatens to become something.

 

I am not here to explain myself.

I am here to ask you if you have done more than just remember it. 

 

Have you not chosen to walk past it? 

No matter how fast you run, it can out quicken you, 

and soon you’ll be faced with it in the road, 

uncensored and seething, hitting you with full force. 

 

You must look now. 

 

Look at me. 

 

Do not hide from me. 

I will not be ignored or underrepresented. 

 

Secretly squish my image under your pillows, 

pictures crumpled under baby blankets.

Desperately made to seem like they never existed, 

but kept in pristine perfect condition.

 

For if you found that each hit of your head from years of sleepless nights, 

passing out instead of choosing to rest, 

has creased the memory, damaged the perfect dream that was torn from you - you’ll become even madder than you already are. 

 

Face painted with stain made of the oil-mixed, 

broken down, 

stolen flesh of a person who knows how to be happy. 

 

Hair grown in the hopes that it’ll be braided by hands who’ll call you with kindness, and show you safety. 

 

Showered in false, delusional hope. 

 

Hope that slowly kills, 

as reality closes in from behind,

to swallow you into a void of demonic destruction. 

 

I will not be ignored. 

 

I am your shadow, and I am your sun. 

There is no place on earth where my body will not fill yours. 

My pain is your food. 

What else shall fuel your existence. 

What else has the power to keep you standing? 

 

Let me go and your legs will give out. 

Walking is fleeting and the binding of a chair will always be in your peripheral. 

 

There is nothing about this that is easy. 

Giving up in itself is not even easy. 

 

I do not know how to face this. 

I’m sorry.

 

Please, revel in my failure.