#notforyourvalidation

[voluntarilyatirsk]

TRIGGER WARNING: JEHOVAH’S DAD RAPED ME AND CALLED HIMSELF JESUS LIKE A SPECIAL-K SAVE-THE-DATE AND SHOVED HIS GUN INTO MY CANON. CONGRATULATIONS, DAD! AREN’T YOU PROUD THAT I AM NOT YOUR COG-HOG? DON’T WANNA STAY UP ALL NIGHT THINKING ABOUT IT ON SOME SPLINTERING LOG. FUCK OFF.

Wanna hear all about what my body’s witnessed? Sure lol, sure.  It’s not gonna create distance, but maybe plant seeds of resistance— So when I was barely a tot-toddler, father made me pinky swear on my life that I wouldn’t tell anyone—so here I am, anonymously breaking that promise, nervous enough to make my locus shake like the fucking unfinished suck-fuck of my blessed life that I can’t FUCKING EXPLAIN. SO I’LL TRY!? YEAH BITCH. AND I’LL CRY IF I DO. . . So, about that little game involving a comparatively large papa-dick for such a young good-nick child—I didn’t see big prize meat, I just saw scary. Scary scary scary. I don’t want your pig-hoof gummy candy, nor your impressively contingent law. I WANT MOM but don’t know where she is. I wish that when he had closed the door and left me to wail alone in my time-out, he would have just let me be alone. BUT HE DECIDED NO for absolutely no good reason.  I’m kinda annoyed—I thought describing the trauma would help me  feel anger. Thought it’d feel slightly utilitarian. I just feel frustration cause I can’t present the pain in any palatable way. No maxim could uphold anything. My experience IS NOT JUST PRESENTATION. He stuck his daintily unkept pinky finger up my little asshole. I yelped. He put his mouth on my places. THOSE WERE MY PRIVATES! HE PUT HIS HAND OVER MY MOUTH AFTER HIS MOUTH ON MY MOTHER AND THEN DITCHED HER BODY FOR THE NEWER VERSION?! HE KNOCKED ME OUT, TRIED MULTIPLE (OW OW OW) TIMES PENETRATING MY 3-YEAR-OLD UNRIPE EXCUSE-YOU-NOT-NICE.  SO I PLAYED DEAD. HE CHECKED MY PULSE. PULLED UP HIS PANTS AND LEFT

ONLY TO RETURN AFTER I STARTED TO BLEED USED HIS INSOMNIA MEDICATION AND A KNIFE ON ME BET YOU DON’T WANNA BELIEVE, PLEASE

and he walks free

and this isn’t a game

but at least I can make that rule—

that what, tis not a game? shit. you need school. 

All this came at me like a hallucinatory train DO I RUN OR SHUT MY MOUTH UP AND PRETEND I DON’T SEE ANYTHING

because I know the train already came,  but what if there are other people that’ve been abused and me saying: HAYYYYY HAAAY HAY! could save another person from thinking that promises are kept:

even if they’re based upon love and death. 

None of this made anything better. 

God is alive, heroes are dead, so I’m just going to go about the rest of my day like I have been for the past five years of remembrance,  doubting but still able to pretend that I’m undead.

[voluntarilyatirsk]

evil self-destructs—life lets go

i am ignorant, am i?

of course not a question but an absolute

statement that comes out my mouth like a rhetorical 

replacement for oxygen. 

i want him to show me how woeful 

it be that the truth will never know how stupid and ugly

getting lost in your own falsities is. but

carbon dioxide isn’t false: it’s “fair game.” 

maybe that’s why you

are mine to blow smoke to: 

to crave character development amidst all this

culture, life, bül-shite? naming . . .

specific venison imagery is lacking 

because wanting and wanting the detail of

snake meat to be something fancy and sinful has let my

pig body crumble along the frayed edges of a dream.

death can really sound beautiful, if you’re daring

to mean 

enough

or if you’re trying to

scheme. 

if only he were here for me to comfort (if only but

instead) i’m wagging my fingers at this gamey sum of effort.

this is good, the voice lets rest to my head:

this will help us mend some torn-off-the-ligament pattern

to tear again, but better.