BECOMING CONSCIOUS AFTER EATING A YELLOW MOON
yesterday I ate a yellow moon
as it rode low, and slowly
encountered a twilight sky.
it tasted like vanilla crunch.
but you know, eating the moon
gives you a headache,
like the kind you get if your face
was slammed against the wall,
then kicked in the gut when you were down.
the kind of headache I’ve had since I was three;
at least that is what I was told.
I can’t remember much about those early days.
besides the headaches, I have been deaf since ten
and I carry a limp as well
as a glass eye
from having philosophical
discussions with the cellar steps
as I bounced down.
I now find it hard to open the cellar door
cause I swear I hear crying
coming from down there.
I know it must be me
sprawled on the blood soaked floor
and I think I would go crazy
if I saw myself.
~~~
you know what’s really crazy though?
for the longest time I loved him;
would follow him
do everything I could to please him.
bring him his pipe
or the newspaper,
get him coffee.
except on those days where his eyes were red
and he stank of piss.
then I would plead:
“oh daddy. don’t be mad at me.
please don’t hit me.
no,no, not that, that hurts so much.
I’ll be good. I promise.”
~~~
even now, I think I love him.
I never meant to push him back,
to knock him down the stairs
I guess if I had called the ambulance right away
everything would have been okay.
but the judge said that it was wrong
to stab him so many times;
to cut off his johnson and stick it in his mouth.
somehow though, I never understood why.
it’s not like he begged for mercy
and he never once cried!
~~~
I am home now,
back from another conversation
with electricity,
sitting in my room
at St. Mary’s, starring blankly
at this huge, yellow moon.
as I savor its vanilla crunch,
I am trying to understand why
I feel like I am to blame?
trying to remember if I ever smile;
work up the courage to hate him.
~~redzone 10/29/02
hello dearest Curt I handle trauma in a similar way I disassociate and I go crazy wrapped in a world I formed great write ❤️dark expression but I get it…
Thank you Crimsin, for your comment and for your visit on this poem. Yes, it is a “dark expression”; there is no “light” in the pain of this abuse nor in the aftereffects. It is a poem I had to write, to tell the story of some poetry friends and how they were “working on healing”. Thankfully, they all really liked the poem. And one friend sent me a small box of chocolates with a heart drawn on the box lid. While I love chocolates, these were her favorite types, caramel and cream filled. Unfortunately, we lost touch, which I understand is often the case after revealing such pain. But the last I heard, she found someone, got married, and had a girl baby (she must be about 10 now).
Crimsin, it is hard to overcome such pain, I hope you are doing well in handling the trauma you face/faced. Thank you again for your words and visit.
I don’t like to speak with my own tongue when the piece is personal like this, very personal… a personal experience (even if it’s not but the writer is). abuse comes in different shapes and types, in my opinion mental abuse can be the worst of all, many times it’s very later when You realize You haven’t come over it while You thought You did. Guilt, shame, low self-esteem and low self-respect… all stuck within the inner child and might be manifested into unexpected things as adults. to overcome pain, hate, guilt… is NOT easy to do in this 3D world, yet some experiences are unreasonablely unfair, even when there is learning or where there is karma.
Unfortunately, it’s the world and humans who have changed into the worst, leaving profound devastation in the people and environment around. You already know this but You must hear it from others out loud and clear. It’s not your fault, never was and never will. No child should be blamed for anything specially in such situations and circumstances, not their thoughts, nor their actions… their bodies, minds and hearts have turn own the defense mechanism to protect their own selves, all what You seeked and loved is the image of the Father You, and any other child would wish him to be, and from my own perspective, You had/have such a pure heart and wise mind to love/loved him still, You could feel beyond the vail and that’s remarkable.
I swear there is a tear in my heart wanting to be released as I read this… the only image I have is a little confused Boy writing all of this.
Back in the late 90’s and early 2000s, when the internet was not as ugly and more accepting, real friendships were made. In a long gone poetry page I met 3 young women and a young man who told me of their abuse and how they were dealing with it, mostly through writing (poetry). We exchanged poems and even talked on the phone or through chat rooms (ICQ). I wrote this poem about the young man because boys/men’s experiences are not as well known, or talked about. I found out that he committed suicide about a year later. The really sad part is that 3 days before this he and I were talking and he told me he was doing really good, had just started a new job, and even thought about dating (he had met a girl at his work).
So, yes, this is a very personal poem for me. But it is not my personal experience. I have never been abused. Just the opposite, I was given a lot of freedom to explore and discover what I wanted to do and become. While my relationship with my dad was turbulent at times, I was a free spirit, while he was an ex-Marine; there was no abuse. And later in life, he and I became more open and shared a lot. He took my kids fishing and played Santa Claus to them. So, the personal experience is in my knowing them and the need to write. I think it is a true statement to say, it’s their story, I just held the pen.
Thank you so much for your comment. The difficulty and mental anguish you mention is so true. I spoke because in some ways, they could not. At least not as direct as this poem. Thanks again Light.
It’s not your personal experience but believe me You did a great job here, You obviously have an emphatic heart.
I’m so sorry for your loss, it’s common that they will tell You they are doing good while they are not, even when life seems to change for theirs to the better but their inner world is not, they held and endured so much… and it can’t be erased in one day. I think woman are more capable of healing because of their physiological nature, yet for both it’s the ego that must dies or at least be silent, You see many of them don’t/won’t speak about their experience even to the close ones because they might fear that people will misjudge or think they are weak. Anyway, analysing doesn’t matter, explaining doesn’t matter. after all they are beautiful humans who walk the same life as ours each with their experiences, beautiful souls who came from the same place we came too.
Thank You for putting a voice to their pains, may your days be only peaceful and joyous as it should be 🕊️🤍
Trauma is an issue I deal with in a daily basis as most people know. Not just my own, but helping many women (and some men) deal with their trauma and seek help.
Your poem will help save lives. It’s a shame that you have to log in to read comments because the comments on this poem would as well. People who can’t reach out but who receive help by reading the experience of others would benefit greatly from what was shared here.
Mary, I truly appreciate your comment and for just being here on this poem. You, like these young friends, have faced horrors that should never have happened. And it’s not a coincidence that it has been writing that has helped in the healing process. They were young, the oldest being 19, but had lived most of their lives being abused, physically, sexually, and mentally. I got to know them because I would comment on their poetry/stories they posted, and then later I got to know them better by chatting with them on ICQ. This poem came out of these conversations. I shared it with them before I posted it on the poetry page we all used. They, along with others who have read this poem, have said similar things to what you have expressed. And while I really appreciate this, I also hope the poem stands as a shield against such abuse, but also as a sword in stopping it. We need a society where this inhumanity never happens again.
Mary, I truly hope that you are not only dealing but also healing. And please know that there is one more person who wants you alive and whole. I hope that is okay.
Curt
You were a light to those young people just as you have become a light to me and I’m sure others here at SR. Your compassion and willingness to be open is a beacon of hope in a world that all too often turns a blind eye and deaf ear to abuse. People don’t want to acknowledge let alone speak about the things that make them uncomfortable. You put those things front and center.with your gorgeous poetry and outstanding exchanges in the comments. If we keep silent, all of us, we allow the unthinkable to continue. Thank you for giving abuse, trauma and survivorship a much needed voice. And a poetic one at that.
I’m happy to know you.
As far as my own healing, it’s a journey. A journey that may take a lifetime. I’m a willing participant.
“A willing participant”, I love that. And while tthere needs to be more voices, for me, I can’t help but find encouragement in the strength and beauty found in the “willingness to participate”, the courage and determination to take that journey. Especially in a world where there are too few voices.
And, Mary, I am happy to know you as well.
One of the most compassionate and giving men I ever had the honor of knowing had a horrific background that would break hearts. He’s no longer with us, but I believe he would have been deeply moved by this piece. When we’re so fractured, it’s difficult to believe anyone sees anything but the scars. Thank you for putting such a strong voice to abuse. It’s real, even when those who are made uncomfortable by knowing or hearing about it turn blind eyes…or perhaps because they do so.
I am so sorry that your friend has passed, Willow. This kind of compassion and giving is rare in our society these days. I am happy that you had such a wonderful friend.
It’s easy to see the scars, but difficult to see and hear the person carrying those scars. It took me awhile to fully understand this. I think part of our “nature” as a human being is that we have an instinct for compassion, for caring about others, but it is forced out of our consciousness by the society we live in and under. Besides this is the guilt, the internal feeling that what happened is our own fault.
Willow, I really appreciate that you read this poem and added your words. It means a lot. Thank you.