she had a nerve to ask that question.

as if all the years of
abuse and manipulation
shouldn't have touched me.

as if her constant harping
on children being so expensive
hadn't made me wish i were dead
then they could divide my lot up
amongst my brothers.

as if she ever respected
our right to say no
without the threat of
flyswatters, ladles,
hoses, Dad looming
in the background.

as if it were ever okay
to make a mistake
without physical punishment
in reward.

as if i were actually
a real person to her
instead of just
'one of the kids'

as if it were preferrable
to be beaten for things
i had never done
because my sibs
wouldn't own up to it.

as if i hadn't grown up
in an invisible cage
cowering in the corner
wishing i were invisible
wishing i were perfect
wishing i could read minds
wishing i could gnaw off my leg
and be free that easily.

as if she had never been
a threat to be avoided
at all costs.

as if we were too stupid
to see the way she instigated
Dad into becoming her weapon
when he bothered to be around.

as if she had ever listened
as if she had ever cared
as if she had ever been a mother
and not a vengeful demon whose
wrath we feared to wake.

as if we didn't live
in a constant state of dread
even on the 'good' days.

as if she weren't trapped
in the delusion of believing
she was a 'good' parent
because she wasn't as bad
as her father.

but nevermind that
yes, nevermind that

the saddest part:
it wasn't even one of my truly depressing poems.

04/14/2003

Author's Note: why, aside from that one abberation, i never show her anything i write. and why i never started writing in earnest until we got a puter. puter illiteracy was her saving grace.

credit to amber mirrali, who's poem enstuffed/slaved provided the creative spark for this.

Posted on 04/15/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rhyana Fisher