Abuse

Politics 2020

 

As real as this is, as real as this feels,

I know it won’t feel really real

until I experience something tangible

like a riot

or being told to wear a star.

 
 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

The current political climate in the United States is something to be fearful for, especially if you know your history. 

Dangerous Territory

I’ve been swimming in the deep end lately.

My head is spinning in circles.

My heart had never been so hollow on the inside.

I need to catch my breath before I do anything else stupid.

 

My work of art is an escape from uniformity.

I felt safe with you for the time being.

At the end of the week, you cuddled me

When the sergeant had an off day at work and took it out on me.

 

I let you in like I did when I meet new people.

You were happy for me when I told you I finally found love.

I wanted nothing more than a friend’s reassurance that everything will be okay.

But you in particular were a land mine waiting to explode.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

I can barely read script in Delphi without misinterpreting some if not most of its passages.

My art isn’t like what you’d expect to see in other do-it-yourself or high-profile projects.

The way I write, the way I archive, and the way I distribute information is my strongest suit.

There is no way I can fulfill my goal in life alone without the help of a team that knows its stuff.

 

You didn’t have to sugarcoat your advice to fix my problems

But you didn’t have to pull more than my teeth either.

You spoke to me as if I had to know every damn trick in the book.

You pointed out where I went wrong as if I didn’t already understand it.

 

I would have welcomed your advice if you watched your language.

I would have been more considerate if we joined forces as planned.

But being friendly with you in light of this is just out of question.

You can say that I’m high all you want, but it goes to show that you’re smaller than you think.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

A vagabond told me this morning that I don’t learn much from success

And boy, I sure did learn a lot about your character more than what it takes to be top dog.

I might also let it slip that you exploded in my face because your little rant was all over the place.

In that case, riddle me this, who among the two of us really needs room for improvement?

My Savior

He was both not there

And my savior

All in one

Because when he WAS around

He protected me

I was his daddy's girl

I was the most abused

He did what he could to help

Usually by doing dishes

 

Mother would get pissed

How dare a parent help

Their child

Their blood

Let them flounder 

Let them fail

So I can win at one more thing

And hold it over their head

 

He helped

But only so much so

Too timid to really fight

Too quiet to speak up

She ruled over us all

She was  the queen

If she wanted something 

You fetched it

 

And I did everything

To take care of our homes

The many apartments

We called "homes"

As soon as I was old enough

To hold a sponge

I was doing dishes 

Once I was old enough to cook

I made dinner every night

 

If not 

You faced her wrath

The anger that would spew

From her nostrils

Her eyes glowing red 

And a quick flick

Of her tongue

And the beatings

She would give

 

Once he passed

It was free for all

Into early adulthood

The abuse continued

I was conditioned

When I left

It trickled to my brother

She continued to abuse her child,

But now it wasn't me

And my father wasn't there 

To save him

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written: 3/12/2018

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Eventually

You made me hate myself 
Made me think 
that I was
Not good enough
Not perfect enough 
To be your daughter 
I wanted to leave 
But you told me stories,
Made me terrified of the world so I stayed 
However things got worse 
And we both got in a fight 
And you kick me out in the middle of the night 
I felt broken and I was scared 
But I didn't let this destroy me
I found a place 
Where I felt comfortable and safe 
And I'm doing just fine
I still hate myself
But that's alright
Because one day
Your words will mean nothing to me
Just a thing of the past 
And I know that I will be able to say that
I am good enough
I am perfect enough 
And that I love myself

Still Standing

Still Standing

By jfarrell

 

For me,

It’s childhood rape and violent child abuse;

For some,

It’s drugs, alcohol, food, stealing;

For some,

It’s cancer, organ failure…

Horrendous stuff I can’t,

And probably, don’t want to imagine.

 

But

WE ARE STILL STANDING, STILL HERE!

Today sucked less than yesterday,

But,

You know what?

It was an improvement;

However unnoticeable, however slight it was.

We are still standing! You, me, all of us.

 

And,

It may be all you have right now!

I know 20 years I tried to kill myself;

And I’m still standing;

Lots of you are like me, despite how alone I feel;

We are all STILL standing, after all this time;

Survive? Stop standing - walk!

One step in any direction, and keep walking.

 

Fuck surviving!

I deserve;

I’ve worked and sacrificed for a life!

Not to survive.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i deserve a life! wife, kids, and donuts! i'm sick of being a survivor, i demand more :-)

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Anniversaries

Anniversaries

By jfarrell

 

Happy birthday; happy christmas;

Poppy day; Anne Frank’s birthday;

Anniversaries are things to remember,

Sometimes, like birthdays, things to celebrate.

 

A little over 20 years ago Princess Diana died;

Where was I? waking up in a mental hospital

After my first suicide attempt;

Happy anniversary.

 

My dying before she does

Maybe the only way I can make my mum feel something,

Anything, about me;

To be fair, it’s not like she could if she wanted to.

 

Last time I saw her, 25 years ago, I told I’m never coming back

“Don’t I get a kiss. I am your mother,” she said

No, I said;

You may have given birth to me, but you’re not my mother.

 

Her spite towards me and my anger towards her;

Both need to hurt the other in self defence;

It is a vicious cycle that will continue

Long after her, or my, death.

 

Happy anniversary.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

yes, i have 'mommy' issues, don't we all, luckily I don't have anything to do with mine - i am the one eyed man in the land of the blind, honest, loook at this face, would it lie to you?

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Peeling the onion

Peeling the onion

By jfarrell

 

My story, my history

Will come out, layer by layer

Within my poetry

And much of it you won’t like;

“let’s leave those horrors for scary stories”

Like peeling an onion, the deeper you go

The more intense it is

 

When I started writing poetry recently

I upset my sister with it;

It’s stuff she’s got over and buried in the past;

And she is the only one of my relatives I give a stuff about;

But she doesn’t believe that

She believes I stay away out of hate and spite;

I stay away coz I seem to hurt everything I touch

I promised her I wouldn’t write personal stuff

 

Sorry, but I’ve got to break that promise

I write for me, I have to write my story

And I have to write it my way

You can choose to not read

But you cannot tell me not to write;

You found your peace;

I’m still searching for mine.

I need to peel this onion.

 

A dream last night

A dream last night

By jfarrell

 

 

 

I dreamt, last night, that my mum had died;

I wonder if it’s prophetic,

The way some dreams are;

And I should be ashamed I feel no sadness, no loss.

 

I got taken into care when I was 11;

(“ and you probably deserved it; only thugs, feral children

And criminals end up in care; you probably deserved it”);

Is the unspoken accusation I hear, all my life.

 

My ‘loving, responsible’ mother

Poured a bottle of vodka down my 8 year old sister’s throat;

Then dumped her, unconscious, on the outside stairs,

When she collapsed.

 

I bet, when my nan and uncle were told about us going into care

There was no mention of alcohol;

I was always the scapegoat;

I was always to blame, every bad was my fault.

 

Hearing that my dad had died, did not release me from the pain;

I doubt my mum’s death will either;

And, 25 years from now I will still be cursing her;

As I do my father, 25 years dead now.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i've had many dreams, i'd describe as prophetic, ie in a sense they came true  - but i've never dreamed about my mother dying, though i've fantasized about it, often - does that make me an evil and wicked person, or just the same as everyone else alive?

Welcome to the Dark

Welcome to the Dark

By jfarrell

 

Roll up! Roll up!

Right here;

Is this seat comfortable enough?

Please keep your arms, legs and head in the car.

Are you ready? …. twinkling, charming, innocent smile

…... (whispered) Let’s go!

 

….(with a hushed, suppressed excitement)

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me thank you for choosing Jim’s Tours,

My name is Jim and I am your tour guide tonight.

But, enough about me, you’re here for Dark;

Hope you’re not screamish :)

 

On your left, police tape, long dead baby in the attic;

Look right, rapist uncle, lying dead with his throat cut;

Left, just under the bridge, a terrible ghost

This is where my mum should be hanging;

But she’s not dead. Yet.

 

…..tour guide collapses, but quickly staggers up, uncertain;

Oh my; wot horror; right next door;

His neighbours, 8 christian souls, innocent and pure;

All with their throats cut and drowned in petrol;

But, not burnt. Yet.

 

Please DON’T be sick in the car; over the edge please;

Are you sure you want to see THE bedsit? Where it happened?

No, you’re not a sicko - you’re here for the…

Waking middle of the night with a lit cigarette

So close to your eye it stings with the heat.

 

It’s your turn tonight, in the children’s home, with this wacko;

He’s bored; so, tonight, it’s your turn to burn, again and again;

Arms; legs; chest;

Tell who? My keyworker who is trying to groom me for abuse?

The pornography he’s giving me, suggests he wants more then ‘friends’.

 

Or, the park behind the library, that summer;

That one day, school holiday;

Playing hide and seek with friends

And seeing what happened to that poor woman.

The punches. The kicking.

 

…. tour guide takes out walkie talkie;

It’s Jim, get the wake up and cleaning crew again, please

This place stinks of sick

And my tourists have passed out;

Again.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i'll see you on the dark side of the moon

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