Androgynous
I was but thirteen years of age,
You called me a disgusting fag,
Not the kind you roll and toke,
But instead, the one butted in joke.
What a joke!?!
You were my mother; you should have known better
To ask a question you didn’t want answered.
Seeking labels confining letter…
…To openly evoke spell treatment of a leper
Shunned by the societies jagged tip,
…A double-edged…
…Eledge…
…disasters forked elegy..
Vibrating avalanches destructive lip.
Cracking without warning, thunder’s
Unbolting divide,
Widening gap inside,
Luring me to the gates of war,
Weathering leathers branding scar,
Dragging me flip side down
Whittling time unknown
Burying chance in momentary anger,
Caverning conditions sibling fissure
To satisfy back wave hunger
…for meat tainted by beliefs toxic choke,
…battered stroke after stroke…
And flavored in slavery’s lineage smoke.
Looking now to back then, watching,
…replaying…
Your spin,
….Backwashing…
….Mind-numbing….
…moral squashing…
Seeing you act like a puppet in pin..
Recycling your programmin’.
Beating and agitating it in, …washers nonsense cycle,
Enslave… spin….cycle repeat…
Tearing apart my childhood room,
Swearing me to be my sister’s influential doom,
Convicting me of non-existent acts.
Hanging me on histories line,
..Shackling me to torture twine.
Rinse…repeat…spin…
Spin…
Hang…
Dry…
And fire..
Flamed without sin..
No moral win…
Regretfully
Weaving yourself fiction,
Back-peddling in..
Almost tripping…
In regrets retraction action..
Denying me merit of daily function:
Mother in your stead, sister, and protector.
Instead…
Rather, claim me a monster.
Bearing the brunt of beatings for my sister,
Shielding her from time’s closet alligator
And worst of all, protected her from the huff of your blow
(Something I could not do forever).
Topsy turvy.
Success and gratitude early.
Yup that was my fate surly.
You’d think…
But
You caused me the opposite somehow,
Wow!!! Just wow!!!
Targeted me as failure’s reason,
…meriting scar’s loyal legion…
Blaming me for life’s lousy treason,
….winter, spring, summer, and fall.
Bouncing blames ball…
Boing-boing-boing…
Tossed me tah excuse abuses reason,
Robbed me of childhoods spirited sow,
Billing me into responsibility beyond know,
Dampening divinities, two-spirited glow.
….Low…
….Low…
My energy did go.
Nearly walking dead
But more likely a wolf, vampire bred.
Torn from all I knew
Over a known identity that disgusted you
Of non-o-sexual in classification
….nun-o-sexual….
…androgynous in interpretation
…anˈdräjənəs…
….Tomboy in presentation
….Divine masculine and feminine.
Once revered, now..
Rewritten as an abomination,
Featured on horror tv station.
Postered and sold as dangerous in matter
….With warnings of my apocalyptic nature.
Angelic.
Godlike.
Blamed…
Nailed to oppression’s darkness
Pressed into slavery’s bloody grain,
…Hard-pressed…
Tainting the pureness of my seed,
Infusing it with violations stifling weed,
Enforcing confusion beyond life’s usual deed
In the name of conformities, misdeed.
With conflicting stride
You drowned me in fits of anger tide,
Resuscitated me cloaked as remorse’s bride,
Cried
…claiming love, but offering conditions broken thread
….Denied…
Spinning for yourself realities alternate web,
Attempting to veil everyone with you instead
Of accepting the fullness of cause in action view
And walking past judgement anew.
Unlocking-locking-unlocking…
…blocking…
Only to later ask me again to forgive you,
Claiming you did not fully understand then what you now do?
You were torn in belief to the point of split,
The Hyde in you wanted my freak to thrive,
But Jekyll wanted it to break and jive,
…..Jeckell jacketing my Hydes…
…Hyde…
Bowing me in operation to fear’s queenly hive.
For something you instinctively knew
And didn’t need in question to pursue,
Punishing me for being a version of you
That didn’t fit stereotypes limiting stew.
Honestly,
Can you blame me for an orientation
… Of no chemical obligation?
Blame me…
For not wanting to wear the
Shoes of hunter gatherer’s before me?
Bearing…
children early,
Conforming to creation’s slavery?
You bore me as but a child,
A mother merely sixteen years old,
Burdened me with your life’s injury, painfully wild.
A product of
Generational teenagers bearing offspring,
Decisions toned by traumas survival ring,
A restrictive primitive chain,
Locked in the fight or flight game,
Influencing societies turning grain.
I was punished for your pain.
…Punished…
For stepping outside society’s name.
Your actions moulded my process.
Seeking to understand the mess
I studied many ways of tradition,
Observed our family in question,
Witnessed the oppressive tradition
Of being broken down till we turned to bottled gin.
Chuga-chuga-chuga-chuga-chuga.
Wishing not to ride my ancestral tracks
I determined at an early age
It unwise to bring children into this cage,
Noted my logical position be a nun,
A soldier holding a gun,
Or a hermit hidden from the sun.
Not of a homemaker playing procreation’s mage
Or rolled in constraint to the point of tv genie fame,
Forced to wield energy insanely lame
….poof…yes, master…poof…
…Narcissism mundane.
Chooo- chooo.
If creations story be one of fact and less of fiction,
Then, in my opinion….
Bearing children be one of immoral infliction,
Abusive to the point of addiction
Andin a way self-consumption,
Not one of ethical creation.
Atom and Eve technically the same,
Eve being Atom’s clone isn’t that insane.
Humanity through he and she, then and after
Related in blood to each other,
Father being the mother
and mother the being the father,
Sister and brother marrying one another,
Populating humanity through incest,
Diluting narcissisms broken nest
Is it really for me best?
To play the role defined by madness vest
Hiding my chi and conforming to chemical lust
Simply because I have flowering breasts?
There is more than one way to plant a seed…
The physical nature is one of limited need.
Mother
I am you, and you are me,
I am a branch and root of your tree,
We exist as one in blood.
Moulded by your Mudd.
Through me, you survive
…As my blood, through my blood…
And through procreation physically survive,
….bloody mess….
But what if procreation is wrong?
What if the point was to heal
And break the cycle aiming weakness at Achilles heel,
Causing us to birth and slave children to broken frequency?
It is said wounds in spirit physically manifest,
So, what if we are just wounds at best
And embracing our spirit is the authentic way to exist?
I love you, mother that is true,
…possibly, because I suffer from Stockholm syndrome…
(But don’t we all on some level or another?)
…possibly, because you are me and
I’m bound in cellular narcissism…
Does it matter?
All that is important is…
I know you did the best with the trauma that scarred you,
And if I another version of you, I wish not the same for me as you.
For us I wish a thriving chance
So please forgive me as I cut this branch
…release caboose…
….cut lose…
And consider the act of true love at its best,
I will take the lesson in the gift of my raising and put it to the test,
Find the balance between right-wing east and left-wing west,
And grow my heart beyond limits chest,
Embracing the androgynous nature of my godly self,
Without accepting the label wrought in fear’s need to print, box
And shelf.
Dumpster Fire Press 