Survivors Poetry

Rest in Pieces
To A.G - the childhood stealer
Morney Wilson (age 38)

Flash me back, flash me back.
It takes one touch to
throw me there,
to drag me here.

You may be dead
or so I've heard.
Did you leave a will?
Did you think of me?
It's not important,
I don't care for money.
Don't ask me why,
don't make me list them.

You left me this
and that and that.
I stick a price-tag
on each one.
One stick for every lick,
another for every prick
of your poisoned needle.
I was your special girl.

Did you remember me?
A pretty doll kept in a box
brought out to have some fun?
A doll among a hundred dolls -
pick and choose
which one today?

You left me more than
anyone will ever leave to me.
I touch, I smell, I taste, I hear,
I see, I dream, I feel,
you and you and you again.

I should thank you,
thank you for your gifts.
I must be something,
I must be real.

I gave it all,
you took it and smiled.
I watched you steal
me, piece by piece.

(Could I be whole again?)

Did you lie when you told
me I would die if I confessed?
I had thought that you were god.

The truth brought death --
But who was it for?
Not me, not me,
not me after all.

You crumbled to dirt then
didn't you?

I take it all back now.
You can't stop me.
I will walk over you,
run over you,
dance on your grave.

I have no need for your bequest.
I return it, crumpled and torn.
What you stole I reclaim.
It's dirty, it's stained
but I scrub it clean.

I laughed when I heard you were dead.

The Season of Treason

There is a child in my head.  I know -
you thought she was dead but
your habits made time stand still.

It is frightenly common
so we are told - to be
frozen, to be caught in a
freeze frame, to be stuck
at that point of bodyshock.

You will say you were a victim
not she not I not we.  You
cannot help it.
You aim for pity
in this game
we play.

We played for two years -
I count the days and I
wait for her self to return.

I did not know she was gone.
I did not know she would never come back.
I did not know you had stolen her
and in the stealing there had been a death.

Did you?

Gripped by unnatural lust
you must, I believe, you must
lie sometimes in a pool of tears.

Do you?

She is forever five
now.
She could not grow up or
grow past your season of
treason and play.

You made her hateful.
You made her hate me.
You made her dead while alive.
You, you are always looming
large in her eye.
You died and yes you can die
and your strength does not diminish.

She is quiet now after
the years
of screaming.
No one heard no one cared no one came.
Thunder loud tears
bring no help.

She is quiet now.

This Did Not Happen To You

She started whoring at the age of two,
Paid for with trips to the beachfront arcade.
Good, clean girl: "this did not happen to you".  

In silence, she hid - the poison dripped through.
Scrub the stains, drink the bleach, keep your mouth shut.
She started whoring at the age of two.   

The teddy bears watched, they planned a rescue.
Try all you can, a stitched mouth cannot tell.
Good, clean girl: "this did not happen to you".  

Swallow words, choking, the sickness a clue -
Can you see it, mummy? Something's wrong here.
She started whoring at the age of two.   

Well-behaved child - he picked wisely, how true.
Godlike, he saw through to the rotting core.
Good, clean girl: "this did not happen to you".

Twenty years later she chose to be true,
Selfish, spiteful - her wicked words killed him.  
She started whoring at the age of two.
Good, clean girl: "this did not happen to you".

© Morney Wilson