too much to remember

too much to remember

Brayton

Registrant
Sorry, but this is where I'm at these days.

you lean over huge
like a dark blanket
suspended

breath leaves sucked down
a quick retreat a
last evacuation

all defenses gone
he rolls up inside into
a trembling crysallis

showing nothing
your large hands descend
then like death heads

on spikes--your demeanor
eyes and face absent
your calloused caress

like slow motion
meteors burning rough
with blood (i hate you)

this is the best of love
and only kind attention
he is ever left to hope for
 
I feel your horror my friend. As always, your stuff moves me (and scares me at times, I admit).

But the flip-side of these emotions is that you're going to take back your power with stuff like this. This creep's dirty secret is out, and HE'S the one who's shamed, not you.

Peace and love, my brother,

Scot
 
keep brave brayton -
no need to apologize about the darkness -
you are getting this poisonous event OUT
and say whatever -
we know it is the poison -
and your mind is courageous for
speaking your outrage!

here for you brother -

mgb
 
Thanks Scot, mgb.

I do find that writing that way gets stuff out like nothing else. I pretty much just write it down and then go back and tweak it a bit not so much to make it sound better as to put it to a kind of truth test, making sure it reflects "feeling" instead of "thinking."

I find plenty of room for writing about "thinking" stuff on other forums. Here it is all about feeling. I helps when guys give me feedback. I'm just throwing it out there. It feels risky but not so much when I hear that guys get what I am talking about.

Brett
 
I shared this poem with my T yesterday and she gave me some insights which you may find interesting.

She said it sounded like there were a couple of voices in the poem--the child part and an adult.

She read it as self-blaming. And that made sense suddenly to me because I do blame him (little Brett) sometimes and certainly when I wrote that for not being a cocoon, not rolling up inside, not finding safety on his own.

That dark blanket (who I thought of as my father when I wrote it and still do) is like the abuse from all sides hanging over me. Not a protecting blanket but rather a blanket of internalized negative messages from my abusers.

Little Brett will eventually crawl out from under that blanket and not have to be a cocoon or all rolled up inside himself anymore.
 
Top