(The relief after the experience of horror is the lightest feeling of all.)
No one is truly capable of forgiveness.
I do all I can not to be bitter, but in the end I feel resentful about so much. I am a patient man but I need to be honest here. I am merely a ghost of my old self. I feel perfectly inspired to wipe the world clean of men like the man I used to be.
Knife in his jacket.
Body decorated with cheap ink.
Gentle touch- and that was probably the most terrifying trait of them all.
(tenderness can also mean brutality.)
He is the grenade you thought was safe, until he grins with the pin between his perfect teeth. He stops caring when he refuses to witness the crimes he committed. Lacks new words for his old anguish when he poetically assassinates all the women who share his bed. His knife is sharp and I know he is behind me as I run full tilt forward, apologetic but glad to be going.
I keep running. Running home.
Running for the gold medal. Running beyond the tape.
Running away from the first time I knew I could kill him. The further I run the more I leave behind. Now, I am a half- dead man starving for vengeance.
That specious male privilege- to call it artful is deceit. I guess I need a new outlet for dealing with shame. My sin swallowing days are long since over through resurrection and radical rearrangement of self. I’ve wallowed in debt and emerged with a voice.
My newfound perception is an F7 tornado; leveling off foundations and sweeping away barricaded protests and half shelled truths- A coup d’etat, to strike the match of revolution against a life-time of learned inequity.
I am lucky. (blessed really)
My presence here is appropriately un-central.
Its the way it should be.
Please don’t prioritize me.
I am not ashamed to hang around the re-initiated and stand tall when allowed, and sit down when asked to. We are all here to learn about about love and politic in some way or another; to unlearn misogyny, to unfeel what fathers are responsible for doing to their sons. The more that is taken away from me the more I appreciate all that I have ever earned. Allegiant in every measure I welcome the right to be-
Filleted in two. Drawn and quartered.
Tarred and feathered.
Carved and discarded.
Most would cry mercy here. Though never having sought or known mercy, I do not know how. It is understood that the world has cut its metaphoric needs into me. They have flayed more deeply than any scalpel could. When it is all said and done you can open me up for the autopsy and you will find a litany etched into my deepest marrow. But to me, every honest and just reward is something that I’d hoped to attain. I used to strive to deserve a little more of something good but I never dared to voice more than I was due.
Because the world’s smallest regard, in greater scope, is treasure enough.
I am no exception to the rule.
I have made myself weak.
to opportune injury.