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Saturday, April 7, 2018

(trigger warning)

Sometimes I feel like I’m living with a little girl.
            ~ Don Draper

I was I was nine when I discovered my mother’s hidden cache of child pornography nine years old nine nine I was nine when I discovered what exactly it was my mother was was doing to me to my foster sister Dolly games we were forced to play O Dolly I blamed you I am sorry sorry sorry I blame blamed you I am sorry for give give me I didn’t have the map forgive me brother escaped to Oregon sister escaped to dirt I was not never not escaped now dead mother dead in the dirt good O my body O my body O my body cathedral I ache and I can not stop speaking about it I can not stop I will never stop speaking about it even though I see the horror on your face read your discomfort your eyes pitch away away away Monster she Monster terrifying she made me Monster even my therapist cries when I visit nine when my dis order was discovered no order in dis no order no hurt catalog no bible for this body this flesh this blood no no no I was nine I drew a picture of myself in therapy a stick with a round head long legs no arms where did your arms go the therapist asked where are your arms where did your arms go when you were nine when you were nine when you when you when you when you when you found the map










18 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

As absolutely furious as I am about what your vilest and most evil mother did to you and your sisters, I believe that perhaps the thing which makes me saddest and most furious is that you feel as if you must redact anything. If I could I would take that shame for you and burn it and burn it and burn it until it was buried deeper in the dirt than she ever will be.
I love you. Fiercely.

kirsten said...

oh. this hurts.

Radish King said...

((Kirsten))

Radish King said...

Oh Mary, now I'm crying good crying. I know you know.
Love.

bloof said...

Love you, Rebecca (If you want help with redaction here—making text match black highlight?—I can do that for you.)

Radish King said...

Oh yes Shanna please thank you please. Big love for this all of it.
Rebecca

bloof said...

OK, fixed.

(Our CSS makes the text publish here in dark gray. So if you want to use redactions again just choose the darkest gray instead of black in the color menu when highlighting and it will match.)

37paddington said...

I would read your unredacted pain, and pray that bearing witness might make it just a bit less hard to hold.

Radish King said...

THANK YOU!!!!!

elisabeth workman said...

I would read you un-redacted—anything and everything you have to say. You are magic and I am so sorry so sorry you had to live this. <3

Radish King said...

Dear Elisabeth, your comment here has made my day in fact my entire month as I have always been a little intimidated by our precise exquisite poetry. Thank you and thank you for not judging me. My redaction was more for me (Mary nailed that as she usually does) though I first I thought it was to protect those who might read it here. I feel changed by the support I found here a completely unexpected joy.
Rebecca

Radish King said...

ps. I meant Your precise exquisite poetry not our. Too early to type, too little coffee.
R

Natalie Eilbert said...

Wow. This is immensely heartbreaking and such a powerful use of redaction. Thank you, R.

Pamela Johnson Parker said...

Your poems do trigger me--they make me want to feel more, they make me want to write more, they make me want to take more risks. Thank you for the beauty (in its terrifying sense) that all your poems bring to me, including this one. I love your work.

Pamela

elisabeth workman said...

<3 yes absolutely, & the redactions carry and do so much (like black flags of invisible/ineffable labor).

Radish King said...

Natalie, thank you so much. It is the first time I've ever used redaction in a poem though I use strike-throughs (a word? probably not) on my blog writing all the time. Thank you!
Rebecca

Radish King said...

Pamela, hello my old friend! I have missed you. Thank you for continuing to read after all this time. You warm my little pinched heart.
Rebecca

Radish King said...

Elisabeth, so beautifully stated. Thank you.
Rebecca