It is October and I still can’t speak
About your humiliation, your vertebrae so weak.
You’ve always had back problems:
A herniated disc.
And now you will never
Receive another kiss,
You say you’re coming back to town this Thursday
You want to see your little girl
Who is so sweet and precious, like the pearl
Necklace you gave my mother many odd years ago.
Our once seemingly paralleled minds
Lobotomized by fertile lies.
The shell of your effigy shed,
Ruins grace her half-empty bed.
The witches told me about you
Before I was even aware.
They messaged me in dreams
About your foreign love affair.
My mother in her infantilized state
Your militarized dogma mocked her body:
I was ten when the nightmare sang me awake,
Since then you have staked
Her child-heart and
Trapped her aspirations in airless jars.
I then told the witches to leave me alone,
Troubling me with broken animal bones.
Their boiling pot of your erring ways
Coated my sister and I in a miasmic haze.
I begged them to keep your darkness in the pitch,
They struck me with charms of oblivion, until I was twenty.
I now wear her skin as a hand-me-down coat.
And I carry your burdens like my own secret crime committed.
Shrill tears of self-sorrow
Counteract your moral injections into my aorta.
You are not allowed to return tomorrow
To the title of Father you borrowed.
A stain where you once stood.
But don’t you worry,
I have remodeled my knees,
They have been cursed with strength that you’ve never had.