Had a weird sort of lexicon
the man who professed
to be my dad –
Clamped in his chokehold
he’d demand words of devotion
Became inured to this dichotomy –
spent a lifetime searching for love –
Just the right balance of cruelty and kind.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Sketch mine.)
Powerful piece, VJ. One I can relate to.
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Sorry you can relate too, Eugi. Takes a long time to undo the wounds.
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Yes, it does and long after that person it gone.
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That is so hard for a child. My heart aches for her.
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Thanks Liz.
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You’re welcome, V.J.
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A very strong piece. I never expect anything less from a great poetess.
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Sweet as always, Benjamin.
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And truthful. Appreciate the care of your words immensely.
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Trapped for life. The drawing captures the feeling of this poem.
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Thanks Heather. I do think we emerge from these prisons with awareness.
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Yes, but it is always there…you are welcome.
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I think your last line summed the situation up decisively….
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Thanks Ivor. Lessons we learn in childhood carry over till we unlearn them.
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Wonderful sketch.
I feel for the child.
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Thank you.
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