Mother (the reality)
Entry posted by Jason Rimbaud ·
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Current Music Selection: Five For Fighting?World from the album Two Lights
Current State: Dis-jointed
Current Mood: Depressed
?What kind of world do you want?
Think Anything
Let's start at the start
Build a masterpiece
Be careful what you wish for
History starts now..? Five for Fighting
If you?ve read any of my poetry hosted here at Awesome Dude or have ever been bored enough to visit my website, then you probably have an idea that my childhood was less than perfect. And before you ask, most of my poetry chronicles my life and the demons I face on every level of my existence. Add into the mix my BI-polar tendencies and dependence on altered states of reality, I wonder why I don?t let the pain slide.
Maybe it?s a stubborn refusal to let ?him? win. He?s already taken my first from me and inadvertently gave me this sickness and fear of front seats and single beds. Squeezing the trigger now would be like saying the last ten years of struggling to find the sun was pointless. Maybe John was right, my life really was over at twelve. That I?m dead and just haven't fallen over yet.
But giving up has never been part of my genetic make-up. I also got that from ?him? as well as his predatory nature and life denial. I?ve always been good at smiling at those who pretend to care about my well being. You know the types I mean, well-intentioned do-gooders who spit platitudes and rhetoric claiming truth from a book they use to bludgeon others into sameness. Or ?caring? therapists who attach blame but offer no solutions. Who takes poetry as absolute and recommends institutional care and gives you labels like, HRSA.
I tend to roll my eyes and go off into my own world as they try to convert me, analyze me, or commit me, while alternately scratching my nuts and winking at the cute ones. Once, I even stripped off my clothes in the middle of her office and described in vivid detail that first time. That didn?t help me but it was the first time I was held overnight for observation.
Have you ever wondered why christians are filled with such hatred for anyone who differs from their idyllic belief system? I was raised on the good book, I?ve read it ten or eleven times and for a brief period, I could quote dozens of scriptures and talk down to others with the best of them. But that was before front seats of cars and someone who used his position to further his own demons. Being taken advantage of puts you in a place, mentally and physically, that you never truly leave. Having one?s innocence taken by a man, who swore before god and the world that he would lead the faithful to the promised land, is something that can never be understood by someone who has never experienced such action. Molestation is an act of aggression against God.
Christians hate others for one reason, stupidity. I?ve been there, I have the scoop and let me tell you, they begin brainwashing at the time of conception. Once a week, a man walks to the front of a building and for an hour, he pretends to speak the words of god. And the faithful sit there with raptured faces and rabid expressions as their own prejudice and fears are given validation. How can you fight christians? They tend to think in absolutes. There is no compromise with absolutes.
Denial is the new black. My father had it, my mother has it, and my family embraces it. And I?m left alone. Can?t they see I?m hurting? It?s not about what I smoke, what I snort, what I inject, who I fuck. It?s not about whether or not I?ll go to hell. I?ve been in hell since cotton candy and broken heaters.
It?s about this scared little boy who still sleeps in the closet at times clutching stuffed animals with ripped seams. It?s about a boy forever trapped inside a man?s body with no clear path on how to proceed. Just once, I wish they?d see me. Why can?t they see me?
Mother
(the reality)
By: Jason R.
Mother
I can?t forgive you
You were there all those times
I know you know what he did
You turned away
Sheltered your eyes
Belief in your god
Could not save your boy
What you couldn?t do
Was protect me
I?ve been dying
Day by day
Mother
I tried to forgive you
Because the bruises
Speak of pain
I heard the yelling
I heard the praying
But what good is god
If a man can do that
It?s your duty
To your child
Laid down in that book
By your side
Mother
I won?t forgive you
Because the laundry
Was your domain
You saw the blood there
Where it never
Should be
From a boy of twelve
You cleaned the sheets
Saw the tear stains
Mixed with fuck pains
How could you let him touch me
Mother
I think I hate you
Not as much
As I hate that man
Should I tell them
All your good friends
Just what kind of mother you are
You hold your head straight
During service
They look to you
For guidance now
But if they only knew
Mother
I can?t forgive you
I won?t forgive you
I can?t?
But I love you
Help me
Please
Hold me
Like a child
Wipe the tears
From my face
Like I was twelve again
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