Voice

February 20, 2004

For thirty years I lived
in the seat of the pain
that was hoisted on me
from well-meaning morons
and the unclean sadists.

I have survived beyond
the wasted days of youth
and the adolescent chant
of death and obliteration.

My only voice of reason
was separated from me
and I still call it The Other.
The Other held my memories
until this summer came.
The Other gave me back
the things that I forgot.

The pain I've carried
now has more sense,
and my anger outweighs
the worthlessness I feel.
I've done nothing wrong.
I was born and I live.
I refuse to feel fault
for any of this that happened.

I hate all of you,
and part of me is
still lost in powerless
rage because I
have had trouble
letting the anger go.

Those that hurt me most
still have a part of me
and hold it against my will.
I will take it back,
and I will make it right.
I will be strong now
because I was strong then.

I kept The Other my Saint,
my only friend for life.
I kept The Other apart
instead of a part of me.
I will take this part of me
and make it mine, too.

None of this belongs
to those who have no soul,
and I will not allow
any of them to be
so big in my head
that all I want is to die.

I am alive.
I am set on life.
I will not die
for those that
buried the woman
that I could have been.