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My final defeat - fixed contest - poetry

 

She almost certainly can't bring to mind
and I know I can never forget. . .
the first time I saw her like that
I was only nine years-old
not naive by any stretch
having seen my share of tragedy-
my parent's bitter battles in my first five years of life
then the inevitable end of their marriage
but not beforehand 700 days of destruction called divorce
that damaged dreams and acutely dented hearts
I had no idea life could get worse. . .

But it did -

The day I found her agreed out cold on the alive room floor
I attention she was sleeping at first
In fact I swore she was just sound dead to the world
to my horrified barely sister
whose big brown eyes screamed with fear
at the site of the flat body of our mommy
slobber dribbling out of the bend of her mouth
soaking her cheek below the dirt of her eye makeup
that trickled down her sickly skin on a face
devoid of any expression. . .

Is mommy dead?
a diminutive voice whimpered
my sister weeped

My gut said Yeah she's dead as a doornail

Thankfully my words said No No she's not dead
as I approved my trembling, tiny sibling upstairs
and tucked her in bed with my promise
that Mommy would wake up in the morning. . .
as I wondered What if she didn't?

Little did I know I would admiration again and again
for the next 20 years
who I would see when I came home from school. . .
my real mom - you know her - the sober, advanced lady -
or would I find that ugly, evil spirit
lurking in my mommy's body again?

I despised that demon who called me nasty names
and didn't cook feast or do laundry
I sought after to murder the monster that growled at me
slurring words, throwing effects and
staggering all through our house. . .

So confused, embarassed, shocked, and dazed
by how my mommy would certainly be two people

But I cultured early -

Never ask questions. . .
about everything at all
Never tell. . .
anyone - not a soul
Never find fault about the awful monster
for fear that it would take my real mommy away forever
Never trust any person or even my tomorrows. . .
since nonentity ever knew if the evil demon would be back
Never feel anything. . .
because it was easier to be converted into finally numb
than to carry on the endless pain and loss day after day. . .

When I got older, I belief I could deal better
but looking back now I know I was wrong. . .
It didn't get easier, I just became paralyzed
behind the caring wall I built to be safe from her. . .

Nobody ever met the first boy I went on a date with
neither close relative even knew his name
much less what kind of car I hopped into
or where we were alleged to be going. . .
Because my dad wasn't about and she was drunk
and I was ashamed, so I stood by the front door
waiting for Tommy's car to come down my street
and as soon as I saw it, I barged out the door
raced crossways the front porch, skipped the steps,
barely let my feet touch the curb before
I bounced into his Chevy with my glinting smile
that all knew me for -

The bright face with the eternally joyful smile
that I faked so often, it just about felt real. . .
My cheerful face fashioned to disguise
my genuine agony and countless twisted torture

Today at 30 years-old, I have perfected my enigmatic mask
as I cower at the back my forced, astounding smile
and insincere description of harmonious peace and normalcy

Nobody ever gets even a indication
of the real me - besieged by childhood memories
tossing and revolving in my bed every night,
haunted by frantic flashes of bad dreams,
reeling in unfaithful feelings, enduring self-doubt, barren disbelief, hopelessly

searching. . .
for explanations, answers
to my questions that haven't distorted in 20 years. . .

But everything close to accepting
seems to avoid my emotional grasp
eternally eluding my ravished, powerful mind
and sense of basis and logic. . .

I surrended for myself to a continual, gripping scramble
through a looming maze of misconceptions
that I achieve with my naive expectations
for a miracle to magically bring to light a eloquent response
to my endlessly, difficult questions. . .

If I could just find. . .
A introverted analyze why
my nurse has chronic to decide on alcohol over me
for more than 25 years. . .
Or a free clue to describe how
I can compete for her love when
my opponent is a lifeless, speechless, emotionless
loyal bud vase of vodka. . .

Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www. bellaonline. com/articles/art8364. asp


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