The Breakable Bonds
Spitting teeth like bullets
Aiming at your idiocy
Finding harm in doing so
One has to chew to eat
So I measure my heat
With melted fat
How long must the fire
Burn to wipe you out
Then I see the smoke
And cough through it
Almost biting it but like
Nails that miss a hammer
You a parasite are still
At my flesh, my brain, my heart
Mostly my heart why were
You not human not loving
I signed up for functional
I did not ask for this mixed bag
of broken glass
I have enough to swallow
When I was small
You ignored me
When I grew you used me
I figured it out intuitively
You were never a sister to me
I was a mop to you
Sent to clean up your messy
Self image, while trying to protect my own
Your haughty fake oratorios
Flagging every British accent you can find
Imagining yourself in some film
Unable to see reality
Invisible barriers like cigarette exhaust
Woven around your perimeters
Keeping reality away
Fighting with what is and what isn't
You have no version of reality
Just another script
A waylayed passage
Or crooked path
Nothing makes sense with you
It never has
No amount of help
No amount of understanding
Can fix your broken
No
But mine that you caused
Is
So stay away
You pox
Keep your lies to yourself
Bury them
And yourself
As I do now to your
Blinding rage
Your hate
Your jealous
Impossible
Demonic
Pestilence. Be gone. I only want the light.
|
3
favs |
983 views
6 comments |
207 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Many people have a family that is perfect, or perfect enough. Some have highly dysfunctional ones. Sometimes the dysfunction is well hidden, until time wears away the facade. Here is a piece that reflects that melt down. When you cannot say what you really want to but must express it anyway.
Other stories by Sheila Luecht
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
So I guess you won't be working on Maggie's farm no more then? *
Yup! I put this preface on the Metta page, "Need a little metta here, but you know sometimes when we write it out, we resolve our angst and we see clearly who we are in whatever the trial is or will become."
Harsh and dead on. I like it.
Thanks for reading Sam.
Cathartic, I suppose.*
Yes I think writing is very much that. There is a lot that people cannot actually act on, things that cannot be done or said. That does not take away the unfinished business and perhaps ongoing business being manipulated....I feel like this really touches a nerve. People who have been reading feel the fury of it because somewhere in their own lives, they might have experienced something similar. Thanks for reading Gary.