In the Dark

He would come with entitlement.
Slipping between the covers that I had made warm,
the bed lost its balance, like someone leaning back
on a see saw, and I was afraid to move.
He would shake, I would sometimes imagine, out
of anticipation or fear.

Did he know how close he came to death?
I wanted to tear away civility
Rip open my monster and allow it to feed

upon the flesh of this inhuman thing that wore
a perfume of normalcy

It was never more than a watering of the cacti
so that he could watch it grow, and I could feel
it against my spine

This was his right, he believed

It had to be,

the way he would greet the world
during the sun’s reign spoke volumes
about where he thought his scepter belonged.

Light no longer gives me hope or strength.
Hiccups of my monster come out at the wrong people.

I was labeled angst.
I always thought it was funny
the way anger and angst began with ang, so I would
write alliteration like

angular angry anguish angles toward angst.

I took my anguish to paper as often as to the fist
but it never seemed to help as I could not show
anyone just what he had done.

All words that should have been my lawyer were
kept in the dark.

My words and I shared that knowledge, in the dark,
the only place it could occur.

occultation occurs with occlusion occasionally

Even now I am afraid to write this, afraid he may come
back from the dead to take his revenge.

I no longer live with my shades drawn
or the lights off
or my head
down.

I am a child of light
and that is where I belong,
even if I don’t always feel that way.