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The Beast howling
At the soul's gate
Demanding entrance
Right away.
Hastily
It tossed aside
My mental defences.
As if
Cotton candy.
It's razor-sharp talons
Tearing away
My mental walls.
Constructed
Over the years
Hiding away
My dark memories
Of abuse.
Leaving me
To feel like
A rag doll
Being tossed aside
In whatever direction
It wants.
Covered
In various rent
And tears
Across my cloth body.
My stuffing
Leaking out
Like dark blood
Upon the tile floor.
Various shades
Of stitching
Enveloping
My doll's body
Like scar tissue.
Highlighting
The previous attacks
Over the years
By this furious Beast.
Although
Not all stitching
Is visible
To the naked eye.
As invisible thread
Marks
The harsh damage done
To my doll's heart
Over the years.
In wishing
This living nightmare
A bad dream
That would disappear
Upon awaking.
And
The Beast
My loving brother
I never knew.
Alas
Faerie tales like this
Is the stuff
That fantasies
Are made of.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: Used to think, I was responsible for my younger brother's action, toward me and my mom. Especially, during the Summer of 1985, when my dad had his first serious heart attack, at the age of 49. Being the oldest, almost of the responsibility of the yard duties, where transferred to my teenage shoulders. While, my younger brother got to live his life, as before, being 12 years old, at the time. As if, I was doing something wrong, to attract his anger, given his past and future history, of unprovoked attacks, upon me.
Ironically, I was told, by my parents, to grow up and not let his antics, trigger me, into a violent reaction, on my part, against him. As my complaints fell upon, the deaf ears of my parents. Thus, he escaped, from any responsibility for his actions against my mom and I, for the Summer of '85. As I relive these days, in my dreams and flashbacks
This August will mark the 9th anniversary, since I told him, to his face that he's dead to me, and the next time, I'll see him, will be, when he's buried 6 feet under. Until then, I won't have anything to do, with him. Having told my mom, this, six years ago, when I reminded her, of the violence that he committed against both of us.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: Used to think, I was responsible for my younger brother's action, toward me and my mom. Especially, during the Summer of 1985, when my dad had his first serious heart attack, at the age of 49. Being the oldest, almost of the responsibility of the yard duties, where transferred to my teenage shoulders. While, my younger brother got to live his life, as before, being 12 years old, at the time. As if, I was doing something wrong, to attract his anger, given his past and future history, of unprovoked attacks, upon me.
Ironically, I was told, by my parents, to grow up and not let his antics, trigger me, into a violent reaction, on my part, against him. As my complaints fell upon, the deaf ears of my parents. Thus, he escaped, from any responsibility for his actions against my mom and I, for the Summer of '85. As I relive these days, in my dreams and flashbacks
This August will mark the 9th anniversary, since I told him, to his face that he's dead to me, and the next time, I'll see him, will be, when he's buried 6 feet under. Until then, I won't have anything to do, with him. Having told my mom, this, six years ago, when I reminded her, of the violence that he committed against both of us.
15 comments:
I can see the prompt brought memories of inhuman treatment. These memories are painful, but show you are on the path of understanding, so you can heal. Keep writing your way through, kiddo.
This is a very vivid depiction, Therisa. Some damage cannot be forgotten or forgiven!
Some things can never be forgotten as they leave a huge impact upon our lives.
Hopefully time will reveal new emotions and enhance the heart's rebirth. Warm greetings.
I am sure most readers will be appalled by your experience of growing up in your teenage years with so much burden to carry. Let's hope that you can walk away from those times and find a happier contented life of your own making.
a metaphor well wrought
have a nice Wednesday Therisa, thanks for dropping in to read mine
much love...
I hope you and your brother reconcile someday. felt your pain through your words. may the future bring you happiness and love. and peace.
ah...such vulnerability...one could feel the tears hidden within the words...only an immensely strong soul can bear this much...may you be always surrounded with happiness and sunshine....
It's so sad to have an enemy within your own family. But sometimes separations are needed in order to allow for healing. Your poem expresses your anger and disappointment. Thank you for sharing this. May you be well.
Thank you, James, for your kind thoughts, but my relationship with my brother, is history. I will never place myself, in a situation, where he can hurt me, ever again. He's a narcissistic alcoholic, who cares, only about himself.
True, Mary, but I need to find a way, to release my repressed anger, in safe way, without hurting anyone.
It's been a long and slow journey, to this point, Sherry, and will take many more years, if possible, before truly healing is completed.
As I read this I am reminded to well of the inhumane. I like the symbol of the doll torn and scattered. You are right to put distance because he cannot see what he does as wrong.
There will always be scars - reach out to others who may also know the pain.
Thank you, Blogoratti, for your kind words.
I am sorry for your scars and pain of abuse by one who was not a true brother to you. God's love can heal our broken hearts!
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