No ratings.
A deeply dark and personal poem about my terrifying past life as a victim in every way. |
Prescot and Main by Keaton Foster Prescot And Main Intersecting Cutting through Dividing up Breaking in two One side I lived The other I died Back home Back then I was just a kid There was a man A friendly neighbor Across the way His name Matters not His relation All but speculation His inclination Young boys He was not gay Just sadistic Not straight But rather bent Damn near broken A monster In human form I knew him Not because I wished But rather because I was forced A hell of a thing To be forced Into anything Any situation Or reclamation My mother and he Best of friends So, did it seem My sisters and she Doting fools Playing along Devine said rules He was And dare I say Still is A man of God The preacher The pastor A child rapist But for some reason Some unknown season I was his only poison There were no others Just me Just I I would be sent Made to go Across the street Beyond the divide Mother would say Go see him Do as he insist As you must Close your eyes Pray to your own God As you appease that devil You are my child But in the same guise You are a sin A mistake not meant I broke the rules of marriage And the convictions of faith My cheating on your father You are the byproduct of sin And thus, a sin of existence I feel I must sacrifice you In the name of redemption If need be disguised As child molestation Further she would add He can clean my stains By devouring you as his I’ve never wanted you But at least someone does I would go As told Across Prescot and Main To the basement Of the biggest house In our hometown A mansion for one A prison for the same There he’d be A beast in waiting A man in the mood For some serious raping A sick son of a bitch Hell bent on getting his I was his kind Young, weak And all but paid for Not with cash Jewels, or gold But rather a barter A sick sort of give And take I’d close my eyes Scream inside As did what he wished It hurt more than pain It hurt more than words It made me numb Of everything human It went on for years Until one day A few days shy of my Last days as a child He was at church In the middle of a service The house was packed My mother sat in the front My sisters by her side I sat in the back In the furthest corner I could be shoved Everyone shouted Amen As he ended each line They believed his Hypocritical lecturing Of course, not I He went on and on Until his face was red Unit his brow poured wet And then, just as simple As it all seems He dropped dead His eyes rolled back As his body went limp He fell flat on his face Everyone began to scream My mother, my sisters Cried out loud Of course, not I I whispered to myself As I stepped from the corner In which I was meant Amen! Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2019 |