This thing this pain, it appears deeply ingrained
The binging of Manischewitz, grape concord please.
The numbing out the inner scream and shout.
The anger within and without.
I withhold nothing as I lay bare in a nauseated ache. I cannot relate nor can I initiate self control once I am in this state.
It’s the on going
It’s the inevitable emotional replay
It’s the sound of the old movie projector clicking in the mind.
From start to finish its all mine.
The reel appears to never end.
The images of havoc and chaos.
The men on top of me,
The raping of me out of existence.
The smothering of sin
Uncontrolled desire.
Men and their need to conspire-
The raping of me.
The image of St. Anthony dangling on a gold chain
The Holy witness
But no help or assistance.
It’s the on going
Me on my knees
Suffocating and choking on extremities
Self has melted away and now nothing remains
Broken beyond repair
I still smell them in the air
It’s the on going
The tattered remains of a damaged wing
Still pushes to fly
To breath
To live
To love
And so I continue to sing…

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare

And I breath.
It’s the on going.
Again.

Photo: Lisa Rene Mella-Ducos