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grant it Jesus is my plea"
so many hymns sung as a
tot never seemed to apply to me
we're told we have in Jesus
our sins and griefs he'll bear.
all my griefs and parents' sins I bore
never felt Jesus or anyone was there
I didn't see that till, well now
and that helps unravel a mystery
filling pews in all the churches
I sat pretty much alone and lonely
where were they when this
church hopping they did
or maybe the question is
where was I, their little kid?
All my memories are of me alone
for the life of me I can't recall
shouldering too heavy burdens
laid upon me by them all
I was their scapegoat and servant
surrogate parent and spouse to all
I carried their privy cans of shit
and took for everyone a routine fall
a friend asked yesterday how
child me felt treated so odd
parents owning me like property
making me think they all were god
couldn't say, never thought about it
needs, wants, self verboten for me
existing in shadow like a baby ghost
stumbling clumsily along periphery
dragged along begrudgingly
bounced between his or her home
to their next big Ponzi scheme
never having a home of my own
Each obsessed with themselves
and the new people they found
expected to parent and char for all
used to them never being around
growing up by accident despite
their harm not because of their aid
dancing for scraps like a hungry dog
being oh so very and always afraid
fear of pissing the big four off
I always seemed to make them so mad
fear of failing or being in their way
those called my stepparents, mom and dad
what pictures remain, so few do
show my anxious pinched face
trying hard to smile and perhaps
oh frabjuous day, to find my place
I've read, didn't know back then
that keeping mum, small and hid
wearing pain scars like death mask
are tell-tale signs of an abused kid
now an adult or what passes for that
I still try to take up no space at all
I pretzel and crumple myself up
like used Kleenex rolled in a ball
I'm sore everywhere, everything aches so
from bowing and bending myself so low
I've broken and torn myself to shreds
I don't know how much lower I can go
about the songs I sang in church
all this harm parents did only to me
dislocated, cold, shattered to bits
Friend Jesus was not anywhere to see
He may have been, we're told it's so
but surrounded by anger, hurt and pain
God seems blind, deaf, dumb and shut
you can't see the Son through storm and rain
they were so selfish and off
whatever shit they wanted I gave
Provided for them at my own cost
enmeshment sadly doesn't end in grave
voices yammering in my brain
dying only makes louder and worse
songs choked by toxic fumes from
gaslighting powered funeral hearse
no hope on this death train
forbidden the jubilant second line
their jazz funeral express goes on
ceaseless "closer walk" dirge is mine
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