Friday, 01 May 2009

• Currently The Book of Dead Days By Marcus Sedgwick see related

  Thunderstorming Nights

  It's not so cool tonight,
  with rain lightly coating my
  entire east-cost world
  in humidity and broken
  words that you never
  even knew I had inside

  The electricity that I imagine
  between us is filling the sky
  now, as I type, and you
  couldn't imagine the gorgeous
  displays of the lightning
  over the hills and treetops
  and in sync with the sunset

  But the best part of all is
  the overcompensating noise
  of all my pent-up screams,
  my shouted whispers, my
  bitten-back, broken, bleeding
  words being expelled through
  the night in a gentle and
  humble thunder that seems
  to tell me with its own kind of lull,
  "It's not so scary.
  You know, you can do it.
  You're stronger than you've ever
  let yourself know.
  They won't let him get you.
  Yes, he knows you love him.
  But sweetie, it's time to let go."

  ---

  I had to talk to the police this past weekend about my father sexually abusing me when I was a little girl. Me, and other family members. I've been keeping this secret for far too long, and I didn't even know that the rest of my family had been hurt that way. It tears me apart.
  
  I love my dad. I hate my dad. I can't even distinguish where one half of me starts and the other ends, because I can't love him without hating him, or hate him without loving him. He is a piece of me, even though he ruined me. He knew how to be gentle for every time he was cruel. I know that he has no excuse for the evil that he's committed, but still I've forgiven him....
  but now it's time to let him pay the price. It's time for me to let go.

  And, to you-know-who-you-are ((the other party in this poem)): I love you. Thank you for helping me stay strong at the times you don't even know you're doing it.

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