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topic: ...someone had scrawled my darkest secret...
by Rachelle Howe
i cannot barter with delusion.
i will not be a slave to deceit.
neither foe nor kin have been able to
comprehend those sibling principles.
trying to disguise bewilderment,
both gnash gnarled teeth, and
soil themselves in ignorance.
their lack of understanding was
the catalyst for my removal,
but it was my refusal to kowtow
to their spiritual slavery
or dogmatic dominance
that sealed my fate.
(as a result, my mother branded me
a "demon possessed causality
in need of continual repentance.
she catalogued my actions closely,
labeling any she found displeasing
as "rebellious immaturity."
which later evolved into her thinking
that i needed to go where i would be safe
and free from the lures of satan and hell.")
i was committed at sixteen.
during the next few months,
visitation was treated as a
holiday formality.
i had no one to impress
with my greasy, matted hair,
sunken in eyes, dilated pupils,
and hospital gown.
no one to entertain, except for the
faceless ones who arrived in my sleep.
theyd administer injections, and
teach me things i recurrently
couldnt commemorate
in the morning.
outside my minds prisons walls,
they were both escorts and guides.
blindfolded, id enter the realm of creation.
barefoot, id sometimes stumble across
a glimpse of what was to be.
creation is freedom.
no questions.
no judgments,
no medications.
space and time
are irrelevant.
only once did i dare to intrude.
my guides called to other realms,
leaving me alone.
intrigued, i turned my eyes and
beheld eternity, unveiled.
(it was then that i saw them.)
decades had transpired
since surveying my parents last.
silently, i watched them
scatter my ashes,
watched the relief wash over
their features after my memory
was released from within
their guilt riddled bones.
in this realm,
they resembled weathered corpses,
withering and decrepit:
my mother's eyes were void and colorless.
my father's remained ancient and envious.
even in the afterlife, they could not
admit to their transgressions;
even there, convictions were set in stone.
they'd been hollowed out from cells to epidermis,
both a short-lived testament
to decay.
there was a time i would have felt pity.
a time when i would have welcomed
the justice of man.
now, there is no remorse
for they who devour
the flesh of their companions.
they are but beasts to me:
(vultures,
scavengers,
and nothing more.) |
