childhood traumas purged and overcome -- progress, realization of beauty of life |
Moments September '94 Night draped in betrayal Part of me died My halo fell, wings drooped Broken In a silence and in a roar Anger has moved me Arms held over my head I made so much noise The earth shook Knowing the sins against me Breaking in empathy My old room in the white house The sun soaked alcove Fisher Price record player My Bangles album The bunk bed Yeah, the bunk bed An instance Clear like a windowpane The top bunk Purple Bed pushed lengthwise against the wall My head at the left end Close to the door Close to Mommy and Daddy's room They never knew They were never there Eighth grade Words upon slick, lined paper Smooth, maroon notebook Eyes gliding over the smeared lead Taking it from me Opening it Making it known A fortress Collapsed September 1994 Mad Dog, Boone's Farm, Wild Irish Rose Too many Camel Lights Sofa broke We lay on the floor Touched, never kissed Ripped, never put back together Broken I'm still not fixed Freshman year I died Again, sophomore year Pills that time Emergency room Drenched in vomit Did I finally throw up the black days? Make the old room pure again? Get rid of the purple? Twelve years old Pink walls Brown purse Dexatrim and water Diet Coke leaking from bottle Staining book bag The bus Jocelyn bitching "Those things are bad for you!" It didn't matter Since when has it ever mattered? Montreat, summer '95 I thought it was over The black cloud again A week of tears Rages Katherine M. all dressed up, saying, "You ARE pretty!" Everything surreal, reflecting in the bathroom mirror Marcus holding me, his shirt absorbing my tears Saying, "You look beautiful tonight" Black cloud reigned I stared into a sea of regurgitated spaghetti Seventeen years What is happiness? These are the things I enjoy: My Marlboro Lights, a good book, word puzzles, my friends But what does it add up to? Is it enough to counteract these seventeen years? The black cloud? The purple? All the walls that glare and mock me? All the wasted days? Can a good movie buy back my innocence? My optimism? My hope? My life? Days of too many smokes Nights of straight scotch, homemade bongs, Cylert to keep me up Sleeping was too hard Stereo blasting the Beatles "Happiness is a Warm Gun" Razor blade slicing the skin of my forearm Hearing the skin rip, a high Stolen beer Cold in my bathroom, hiding Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat Only thought getting rid of the pain Drink, pills, or death I didn't care Were all my days really that bad? All that over No more violent storm, angry wind, stinging drops of acid rain Acid rain tears No more scorching, melting, boiling heat No more bony, icy fingers on my skin No more walls I can't break through, screams I can't voice, scars I can't show off No more perfect prison to hold me within its loving bars And choke me, smother me Even with the freedom Even with the hell gone Is it enough? To balance the scale? Make it good Instead of just not bad? Now, December 4, 1995 Cold, nose running Bright, blinding fluorescent lights French class Sarah saying "J'ai travaillé a MacDoh" I've heard it all before Cheeks numb Tingling Tired Wanna go home Not bad, not good Just okay And that's not good enough School's always like this A zero A void I am not happy Between 7:30 am and 2:15 PM, Monday through Friday But I'm not hating Not lost in an overgrown jungle Trapped in a tiny glass box 2:15 PM to 7:30 am Am I happy? Homework, Kelly, writing class, AS, TV, the ever-ringing phone E-mail, the $1.50 theatre, pigging out with friends Count Chocula, magazines in my mailbox, good movies on TV Music, concerts, Flashback radio show Dancing, singing in the shower, fries from Miami Subs Uno with my folks, pictures of my nephew, talking to my bro in Texas Adding it all up The whole is greater than the sum of its parts It's a lot more than a list of activities Likes and dislikes Smiling Soaked in the late fall sun Dead leaves crunching underfoot My first Marlboro of the day between my lips Air cool and fresh on my smooth skin I laugh Happy That's what it's all about The moment Perfect Like a photograph waiting to be taken These moments are my sustenance And I feel sustained |