To Daddy: A Nightmare Remembered

Prologue



At twenty brittle years of ragged age

my blood  runs cold,

my arms repel

those arms that hold me

love expected

still rejected

thrust into the deepest hell.

Bowels twist and crush

in vain

my every love's attempts to reach and heat

my frigid hate eternal

captured by your stone grey eyes

that still in death,

Daddy,

yours,

still haunt me,

taunt in death

with your dead claws

that scraped my virgin shell apart

that bloodied stain

spilled from my child's

waxen flow

where none should go

not YOU,

Daddy,

strange savage in disguise,

dead craven

with dead eyes

that first attacked me,

only eight.



One: The Regression



I thought I had forgotten you,

damned beast you are,

who never really left

that day,

that night you died.



My eyes were shut

like shades to block

the light of day

until my love had words to say

that sounded so like words of rote

you, Daddy,

uttered

breathlessly.



My memory regurgitated, abrupt,

those thoughts

left dead with you,

I thought,

until gut-wrenching gasps

hurled vomit, mine,

past kisses

down his throat.



That happened yesterday.



I again dry heave

often

an empty retch

no chunks of vivid bursts

in me to hurl

the last

gone with my love

his hungry mouth

too full of me

instead of mine with him.





This happens every day

I try to love a man in love with me,

he thinks,

until

closed tight my eyes to shut you out

from my fatherless memory,

Daddy,

you,

no father real of mine,

return.

Life stinks!





Two: Recollection



Remember,

a dozen years ago

I learned to love like you --

twelve years remembered --

taught by you, not to love,

just what to do

not with

but to you --

things you loved me do

but which I hate now,

did then, to you,

Mister,

and I am different for the experience

because, even now, I hesitate

and they who really care now don't debate;

they leave me one by one -- not one can wait

for me to overcome that horrid date

what happened just a dozen years ago by you,

Mister, when I was young,

too young -- you knew,

and still you did what you wanted to

leave your ego satisfied.



I'd rather to have quickly died!



But, it's too late.



Then, I was eight.









Three: The Transgression



You often came to me

in the night

to give a little hug

and longer good night kiss

but

when I closed my eyes,



I saw you leave

and wiped away the spit

you left behind

still clinging to my

still quivering lips

where your calloused, thick tongue

snake-like split --

pried both of them apart

my scared but angry mouth,

my scarred, torn, sacred youth.



On top of me

your pounding flesh and pounding heart

pressed relentlessly.



You never left

those languid, steamy nights --

your stinking adult sweat

drenched my sheets, pillow case

your sticky semen dripping

from my crinkled lace.



You stand just watching in the shadows -

a frozen smirk

carved on your wrinkled face

knowing nothing I could say

would stop your coming

any other day

or night

into my private room, too late

to stop you coming

in my private doom

watch you masturbate

myself unwilling to cooperate

not knowing why or how

you captured my reluctant heart

and trampled it beneath your feet and hands

defiling every part of me

fulfilling what your filth demands

each torrid day, each restless night

for twelve long years since on that date

you killed my life when I was eight.





Four: The Repetition



When evening turned to night from darkest day,

I knew the constant terror

would repeat itself

so long as you,

Mister,

called yourself my Daddy, dear,

though we both knew it wasn't true

that you were husband

and a father, too,

to someone else, a wife who thought you dear,

and your own son, my age, I think, or near

enough that I should wonder why

you needed me at all to do

what frightens me but pleases you,

or if you spread that child's legs as well

to put him through this senseless hell

that leaves me nightly nude and numb

shorn of my virtue, left unsaved

for whom I wanted to succumb

one future day

in marital passion, conjugal bliss,

my love, my dear, innocent, intact;

but you, with Daddy locked on your lips,

rough fingers on my thighs and hips,

my door ajar and window cracked

a bit to let air in as you let out

some pants less gasses,

panting gasps,

YOU,

not  I,

fulfilled without a doubt.



I felt the flow as you ejaculate

upon my untried body, let it out,

yes, let it slip -- let fluid seep

you loose the grip you cannot keep --

I lose my self in pretend sleep.



You watch my tears flow,

salty, sweaty, silent fear

overwhelming me , blow by blow

(you'll never know how every breath

prayed these twelve years your certain death



would free me from the chains that fate

condemned and bound me,

locked tight around me)

hammered by your anvil fist,

too young and useless to resist

when I was eight.





Five: Propitiation



But they continued, grim display

for ten years since that horrid day

when first you leered

since when you sneered

at family, friends, but not your id --

the secrets of your life you hid

from children and your simple wife

who looked the other way

and let you in your fantasy play

while thinking all the while,

Don't touch that kid!

But, Daddy, dear,

you did,

and now you've paid

a decade deep in debt

you're lying here

for lying there

dead

the eyes wide open in your head

screaming, HELP! to me.



I left for regions far away

ten years ago, ten years today,

and hoped you had forgotten

who I was and what I did  and didn't do -- for you,

Mister,

who thought, by saying "Daddy" I would quit

withstanding

understanding

that all your love was lust for me;

but, now, I know far better, Sir,

that those games of your fantasy

were nothing what you said they were.



Here, mother living all alone,

I visiting,

she, stagnant, sterile,

sits inert by window sill

beholding nothing sure

since her husband,

my real Daddy died,

and you emerged with proper form,

indeed,

sprung forth like sudden summer storm,

a seed

of evil surging from your curséd will.





You should have fled,

as I did;

you should have died,

as I did.



But, you didn't,

be damned your soul to hell,

because you killed me,

took the life that's mine,

abused and used me

as your concubine,

and warned me not to tell.

I couldn't,

and no one ever knew but you and me

about your dark depravity.





Six: Termination



Your image filled again that ancient hall

and loomed before me years ago, and now,

I'm older, though  you can't recall

how young I was back then, nor how

you could maneuver and manipulate

me, then an innocent child of eight.



But, you tried again, as many times before,

and failed to reach me

failed to breach my

barricade

nor break my morals any more.



You kept your distance, tried enticing,

pleas and promises, all too late.



While stroking blindly

thunder struck

and stopped abruptly

stiffened limbs

mid-thrust, mid-stroke, arhythmically,

it stopped, at last that frigid heart,

that coldly violated me

twelve years ago, this very date,

when I was just a girl of eight.



I cannot move

from this same room

where my hot tears had washed the floor,

had splashed the door

you closed

cannot help you holding out your cramping hands

with pubic hair stuck to the sweaty seams

it seems,

fresh semen clinging to the flaccid tip

belt cleaving far below the hip

unzipped, sagging to the knees,

your vacant stare still begging, "PLEASE,

help me! my  --  heart,"

but, now, there was no part

of me to hear or help you --

nothing that I want to do.



I let you crumple to the floor, dying

and smiled wanly, lying

the first time in so many years

that I cared,



and waited for so many tears for you to die,

like this, your hands full

of yourself instead of me

and I smiled, broadly

could not help but say out loud,

"Thank GOD you're gone,"

killed by your sin

and I am free. At last, I win.



A dozen years ago, till now, with hate

I lived and died, since I was eight.



I don't look back upon your dead remains --

your rotting corpse.

I walk away

with hope one day

one night,

those memories will die,

and I --

and I will finally LIVE!