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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/961828
Rated: 18+ · Book · Writing · #1300042
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#961828 added August 1, 2019 at 12:28am
Restrictions: None
somewhere Between Poetry and Prose


When I Arrived
(Note: I'm still working on this)

Remember that summer
He took us to the Tastee Freez
After helping mow a field
He Sprang for 10 cent cones
You had your freckles
I was just past orange
Blond hair a melted heap
Beneath a cap, grass
Specked, stained by messy
Errant sun screen applied
Before she would let us go

I remember the day at camp
Arriving, big wiffle bat in hand
(the kind that couldn't miss
A pitched ball). Temptation sated
As I flung it at his fat behind
Maybe, he was frustrated
Just embarking
Maybe, I was acting out
Before he rumbled, chased
Down, assail like
No toy could
A tender backside

I wasn't in pain as I cried
         Learning to hold in anxiety
Especially the evening
He pinned my neck
In that dinner chair to floor
Vicious words spat
After I realized openly
Why
I had five extra newspapers
Left over from my route
I wouldn't finish my meal
Reheated after
He drove me to deliverance
Of each tardy daily

I suspected you were amused
Each time I failed him
But I was in his way until
The day he lynched you
At the back door
After midnight with his
Gripping hands
Accusations of drug use
Questions about your intent
When she intervened
(Slapped to the floor
Like a dog)
[With free mitt] before
I arrived
Locked burly arms behind
thick torso, shoved
Across our house to couch
Sat upon him
hammering his face
Two stone fists
Just glancing off
That thick, dull skull
Mouth drawn
Like a wide-eyed fish
Punished like a child
As I shouted contempt

Why couldn't I hurt him
Hit him harder
Turn him to dust?
Because
I still loved him.
I went to bed knowing
You and she were safe
I still relive torture
Restrain hard
Not to hurt another

But, I guess that depends
Since I have my vocabulary


You might not see me as a child of abuse.
Nowhere to stand in your house
With my drama.
I'll wait outside
No matter the weather
Long for the proper invitation

Somewhere the likes of me
Is welcome

Did I mention my baggage?

© Copyright 2019 He’s Brian K Compton (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
He’s Brian K Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/961828