letter to no one

to whomever would listen.

days of mothering, cleaning, bending, laundering, rocking, nursing, caring, nurturing...  where were mine?  i wonder what it would take for me to begrudge my precious son the love i feel overflowing in my heart, the hopes unrealized, the chance to be just very happily him?

i wonder what they did to make them hate life so.  how can a mother leave her babies at home, send them to school with no lunches and cigarette-smelling clothes, ignore their cries of help me, he hurts us, he touches the bad places?  how can a father drink himself to oblivion while driving his young son into the front porch, taking vacations passed out poolside while the kids eat cheez-its for dinner and pour out the beer?  how could they look away, laugh at, pretend it never was, the pain and crying of two young children, begging, please, love us?  and how do they feel now, now that one has grown into an addict and perpetually jobless nobody, the other is distant and healing, protecting her young son from the ill-love, the kind that leaves a scar?  where are they, who would they wish they were, are they as empty inside as i imagine they deserve to be?

do they work at karma, or is the mantra 'deny, deny, deny?'  do they scream inside, the way that i did, the ways that i have, reaching and wretching over the agony of not being loved?  do they ever wonder, is she ok?  do they hope for my peace, the way i do for them?  do they forgive, do they pray for love, do they feed their souls?

i wish i didn't know the answer to this.  days spent in a dark house with her depressed and oppressive partner, or busily humming a tune of nothing hurts as he retreats to a place where no one lives...  describing for themselves a life of no-worry, of no-accountability.  never wondering what will happen when they are old, and no one is left to care, or, rather sadly, the only one left is the one they did not care for, the one who tries to break free day after day of their shameful disgust, of their pretending life is tv.  the only one left who could help is the very one they neglected to begin with.


and the other one.  the one i wished things differently for, who now hurts and takes and cons and lies and lies and lies.  the one tortured so long, no one is left to torture him but him, and he takes what he couldn't get from the abusers from those willing wanting wishing to help.  he takes from us, from our child, from the third ones' kids, and an aunt and uncles' kids too.  about-to this and fixing-to that.  gonna throw ya'll some money as soon as this next job comes through, just need a little money for gas, and hey, what's one beer, and i'm in pain is why i take the pills, and i been driving this way forever, fuck you and can i borrow your car?  you don't understand, don't know what the fuck you're talking about, somebody wronged me, so i'm screwing you, can you lend me twenty dollars til next friday?  i'm in your neighborhood, just thought i'd stop by, i just want to help ya'll out of the goodness of my heart, hey want to get a six pack?

and he hides under his shame, never seeking, only scamming, just a little more to get by, until one day he's stealing a roommates truck and fucking a girl who doesn't know any better because she's got a job and is too dumb to question.  and i feel sick inside each time he hugs me, or reaches for my son, and i pray for the presence i need to ensure my child never becomes like his uncle.


but, if only there wasn't more of them;  they operate in packs of un-reasoning and deceit.  the mother of all losses, the matriarch of un-truth, the master manipulator, the enabling grandmother of fear.  she spins the tales they might want to hear, honey you know where the pills are, i've got the money if you need it, i'd rather you get it here than on the street.  they been drugging me, stealing my money, look at me, i love you, why don't brandi ever come see me?  i love her so much, doesn't she care that i'm dying, i have no money, i can't walk, won't you come see me and bring that baby?  damn jigaboos trying to steal my jewelry, the doctors won't help, don't they know i can't?  i'm gone sit back and wait for it to get easy, did you notice how fat she got, you know he's sleeping with his step-mom?  just can't understand how my own family could turn their backs on a crippled old woman, don't ya'll see i'm in pain?


and i continue to retreat from their lies, and i fight my way back to love, muffling my ears from the cries of doubt, from the fears of self-realization, and onward into my own self, into the marvelous unknown, my child on my hip and my love by my side.

it's my life now.  regards.