dimanche 1 mars 2009

Arson in the garden

V dolls


they say that when water freezes, it increases by 9% in volume, cracking the fatigued rock into which it seeps.

when disappointment and disillusion seep into the cracks of a broken heart, they increase thusly in volume, bursting the heart in anger.

we are told
"the past is the past",
let it go;
let sleeping dogs lie.
forget it.

but this is merely a convenience
for those who prefer not to do the work.


there is no past
there is only an eternal
-- and eternally growing --
present
filled with that past.

so, you don't forget it.
as long as the pain is still there,
you can't.
as long as you can't approach it,
as long as you can't touch it,
there is no end.


make it for yourself.
it's nothing.

not if you don't let it be.


it's hatred.
as long as you can't feel my pain and revulsion,
as long as you don't ask my pardon,
as long as you don't tell me you are sorry,

it's a callous affront to me.


save yourself by saying
it's nothing.
protect yourself
by keeping your feelings to yourself
and showing me only the ones that prove
it's nothing.


you have continued the relationship,
in the forms it has taken
since it began.
i never had one with her
other than as the object
of her hatred.

the place to put the blame.
the resentment.
the loathing.


she took what was not hers.
you gave her what was not hers.
and,she blamed me
for it was mine.

she did not blame herself.


she called me by my full name.
the better to identify me,
the she-who-must-be-named.
her.
that one.
the one who will carry full responsibility
for the bad I have done.
the evil I am
in the sickness I will not own.


if I cannot have what I want,
you will not either.

i dress you in a thong
and the string with which to hang you.
i burn your feet, your hair.
i pierce your breasts, your uterus, your heart.
your eyes.
the cross.
i make you cry.
i slit your wrists
and make you bleed.

i do not have the courage to do this to myself.
i pretend only.

i hate you.


my children do not know that I do this.
they sleep.
i sit here with my hatred
and my pens,
my red and my black pens,
my lighter and sewing pins, and
my child's baby dolls,
while she sleeps.

or,
does she not sleep
but watch me
as i do this
to you?

i pierce you.
i burn you.
i make you cry.


i am crying.
i make you cry.
i am.
i make you me.
i make him see me in you.

i hate you.
me
hate.

she hung them on my gate.

my children know I hate you.
i tell them I hate you.
hate you.
you are crazy,
not I.

i did not sit and stare at the wall,
smoking cigarette after cigarette,
hating you.


i hated you.
and I called you,
always,
by your full name.


i name you.

you don't know her.
the good things.
there are good things.


i don't care about
the good things.
i can't see
the good things.
i can't see you
see them.


i'll grow long claws to protect you.

you swore beneath your breath
and let me hurt.
you did not claw.
or,
you did not show me
that you did.


we can't have children,
you said.
we wouldn't agree on how to parent them,
you charged.

yet,
you had children with her,
she
who wished me this.
who did this,

while they slept.

you did not help me
and you hurt me,
and i began
to hate you.

i don't want
to hate you.
help me not
to hurt.



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