I talk to my Older Girl Cousin. An inundation of information just comes flowing out of myself. She knows. She has been repeatedly raped by Uncle for many years now. With his penis. Bastard! She tells me that Uncle has attempted to molest her mom, my mum, family friends. The list is long. Uncle’s mother even knows. So why has no one tried to protect us? To this day there is no satisfaction. No real answer to that question.
It is the summer after my ninth grade year and I search out numbing agents. I begin smoking pot. It is just what I want. It is perfect. I like it a lot. It helps me forget and overlook the injustices.
I am in a euphoric state as often as I can manage a moment to sneak off. Mum and Dad are always near. It is hard to get a minute to myself. Here on these pages I vent my rage and misery while floating around on a cloud only I can see. I do not want to come down. Here my vision is full of color and imagination.
I will begin to write poetry. It will romanticize this ugly chapter of abnormal psychology. I feel alone here. My parents do not realize they are smothering me with their rules. I make them the bad guys. The tighter they get, the more I want to leave. How can I go? I know what is out there. They can not help me because I won’t tell them what is bothering me. Why? Will my life get better if I tell? No enlightenment for them today.
I feel a wild streak coming on. I want to go crazy. I want to be a tornado. I believe I have nothing to lose at this point in my life. I do not see what I still have. My perception has been distorted. I have little esteem left. My drawing and my writing are all I think I have going for me any more. My looks are not worth their trouble.
I see a girl on the bus today. I know for a fact that she will be my friend for life. I do not know why I believe this. She is uncomfortable with my stares.
I met the girl from yesterday. She is wonderful. She cannot see how Uncle ruined me. She never mentions it! She has a need to cut loose like I do. It is great. She is an artist and a writer too. My Friend and I spend as much time together as our parents will allow us. We party together and expound the wonders of the universe. We have no baggage. It is a freedom I have not known since early childhood.
My Friend ran away from home.
Loneliness
Pedestal of flesh and gray.
Skyward gaze, ball of fury.
Testing grounds for child play.
Reaching to grow with no sun or roots.
Canceled stares stamped void with time.
Unbalanced cubicles in a mind.
Touches of gold, ridges of blood.
Red clay stained and kind.
Gentle wind on rocky beaches.
Barefooted lovers waiting for the moon to fade.
A breath of birth.
A sigh of success in a tunnel of pain.
Grassy hills with no destiny.
Waiting for a friend from the
Center of the utopia you once
Felt was present.
An iceberg upon burning coals.
The scent of eucalyptus rising in the
Storm of madness…Deafening silence
The whisper of freedom hovering over your senses tonight.
My Friend is back home. I am relieved she is safe. I cannot wait until tomorrow to see her.
My parents have told me that my friend and I need to spend less time together.
My Friend and I are inseparable at school. My parents cannot take that away. She is sorry she ran away but she had so much fun. We dream about being together and free someday. No matter what happens we will be friends until the day we die.
