Immortality*
I want to care - I
want people to think
I do -
I really give a shit
or maybe I think I’m supposed to care - It’s only a phantom
all that guilt-driven
shame - the constant harping
heaped on me - dosed
in good measure
by a well-meaning but
fascist parent - applied with “love”
comes to fruition - leaving
welts
late in life - on
tender skin
Too late? - “Not
enough,” I scream
The “what is” and the
“what should be” - unnecessarily
wage war in my crimson
thoughts - But they do make it seem like
I really really don’t
give a good goddamn -
at times
about much of anything
others think of me - yes, not even you
yet I still act like I
do - understand completely
Am I in control? - A lack
of empathy
Or is it she—still? - Shrew-bitch!
And the gray elephantine
weight of it all - Bearing down unmercifully
colors and smothers my
every labor - crushing any effort
to write, speak, move,
feel - to love!
If I could drive a stake - with
abandon
through the heart of
darkness - to the hilt
I would—ending it - forever
But there is
immortality - with her blessings
and her name is “mother” – Amen
*This is a
“cleave poem.” It can be read three different ways: left-to-right in its
entirety, just the left side (in bold), or just the right side (in italics).
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