I remember
smoke filled rooms
the smell of Jack Daniels and beer
mixed with the sound of “Point of No Return”
playing endlessly
in a room full of glazed eyes.
“Uncles” who frequently visited me
in my little girl’s room.
My sanctuary invaded,
the scent of drunken excuses on their breath.
The crushing desire to cry out for her,
to have her rescue me
and hold me safely in her arms
knowing she
can’t,
won’t,
doesn’t want to
come to me.
I try to glimpse her face in my mind,
so beautiful at first glance,
veiling the maggot-filled pestilence
that is her soul.
But still,
I long for her
to love me,
to want me,
to need me
as only a mother can
Regardless of what she is,
or isn’t.
I need her,
I want her,
yet, I know
I won’t ever have her.
Sometimes I long for those smoke filled rooms,
the smell of Jack Daniels and beer,
Kansas playing on an old stereo.
I close my eyes and
I remember.
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