Thursday, August 9, 2012
I have the smallest of voice inside of me that whispers
"I want to speak" as the voice was often muffled in whimpers.
Yet it was the beginning of syllables and place
that was drowned in silence as compliance took shape.
I speak in shivering speech and know it must raise louder
for ears to hear and eyes to weep as I did for all before.
I sat in stolid like a stolen statue that was under construct,
chipping and carving to release as I teared from the loss of such
fallings underneath. Parts of me disappearing but unknown
that much more was in clearing.
A statuesque stance of the survival lay within the block and the voice
remained silent for a mirror image to resemble the talk.
Yet there was not one that was in a silhouette of this imperfection and imbalance.
I may be the first to be heard of a child that lost nerve long before a chipper of stone took to chisel.
The layman only wants the finish product and not the toils of carving
and how it transformed the picture within. I am a minuscule sound that's
been released from each chip and hit whispering I want to be found.
I want to scream till shattering releases all that lives inside.
I want to speak of all that I hid away as a child who remained.
Facts, sir is all you hear and want is why I never gave it up.
Why without the crumbles of my must and the gathering
of my muse should I give? It is the universal give and take
that was a erroneous mistake of my breath and it left me without exhale.
A child of four left without a past without blood to seep when the first
strike took hold. I was a second grade student who had to study hard
to survive, to seek the beauty that I hide. I was the concubine of men
and I was the slut of a misappointed king. I was still a child despite them.
I held the strength of prisoners of war and I screamed in silence to God
on carpeted floors. I gathered the rain and made pools of tears and I drowned
my voice in them. I shut my keeper's gate and I watched the needle
plunge into my tongue. Sharp and oozing without riches but chemicals of
bitterness. I gave them nothing more of my raped scenario and I cemented my
vocals from lashing out the pain.
I was four when God ignored, I was seven when fate ignored, I was twenty when I left that world, I was 21 when another beast snagged me up and chewed me out through mono dioxide derivatives, I was 22 when I ended the dream of hallucinations in screaming, I was 23 when I sought out learning and I was 25 when adulthood took hold. I was promised to another who could not take but only give more of what was asked before. Love by definition and love by understanding to make of heart and brain.
A life within a drain is all I could give and show and so I will tell and speak louder of my intent to share my destined lament and they will ignore like before. I am futile that never gives up in dream of a frozen stat in state. If you heard just a word than I am making progress and have moved an inch. I am in transformation of tiny bubbles in air, exercising my lungs to exhale as the longest recorded case of CSA. Today I quake in my treble and yesterday I shook in my troubles and yet progression moves march to match the other voices curtailed.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Deaf and blind but Helen Keller was a martial artist.
A combatant in fight for light,
she clocked the barrel of night
by shot towards ignorance who flew
by and laid eggs of crisis.
An insect with compound vision
seeks death and submission
to find end in a smushing swat.
More Designed Death of Flies: