Tabitha Vohn's Blog - Posts Tagged "abuse"
Ride
My given name
is a prophesy
I wonder if when
my mother first
held me if she
could feel the
searching
already stirring like
the hum of engines
high speed down
Route 66
desert winds
choking gravity and
blurring the peripherals
I wonder if she knew I'd
forever be running?
These goddesses give us
celestial aliases our toes
trace through cyber forests
where wolves craft more
clever disguises they are
the Huntsmen
shapeshifted into Father's
long-forgotten scent
They
plunge axes into
unblemished trunks
we bleed sweet as maple
swelling in all those
arterial holes meant
to be paternal
I still played with Barbies
the first time I was cuffed
to a bed
You beat me til my bladder
burst like the ecstasy I've
yet to own from any man's
touch
Now
I mix pink barrettes
with spiked collars
and chains but if the
grease marks from all
those soiled thumbs that
grow harder with each
spit-soaked plum
could scrub off maybe
I'd be tender enough
not to need these serrated
tips tracing scars from
nipple clips see I can
Break just as well
from the force of my
own bitter disappointment
Love
has not come in any of the
shades those stories
promised me
no gifts of rubies or jade
afterwards just the tiptoe
to that
other toilet
my belly a soft Voodoo cushion
for the Crone with pad, paper, &
spider plant to fashion pins in
as I fold further back
until seeing beyond myself
is an astral projection
the love of a man
as foreign and as longed for
as those neolithic cave dwellers
who never saw the sun
but coveted jellyfish light
despite the sting I still awaken
to the Red Room
to axes and selfies I tether to
chafed ankle bones
along the floor of this vacant sea
I wonder why the boy with the
ocean gray soul was the only one
who's ever been delicate with me
the only one who ever saw me
yet could not want me
Bleach & Bristle won't scrub
out Blemishes of mistakes I've made
I wonder if
when my mother first held me
blood-soaked placenta splattered
delicate as if my innards read like
Tarot
were my eyes pooled reflections of
the gravel laden highway she'd
already known?
Or did she fashion
my name
from an intuition
arms & heart too pillow-soft
to be a father's
An inhale too hypocritical
to be a prayer?
is a prophesy
I wonder if when
my mother first
held me if she
could feel the
searching
already stirring like
the hum of engines
high speed down
Route 66
desert winds
choking gravity and
blurring the peripherals
I wonder if she knew I'd
forever be running?
These goddesses give us
celestial aliases our toes
trace through cyber forests
where wolves craft more
clever disguises they are
the Huntsmen
shapeshifted into Father's
long-forgotten scent
They
plunge axes into
unblemished trunks
we bleed sweet as maple
swelling in all those
arterial holes meant
to be paternal
I still played with Barbies
the first time I was cuffed
to a bed
You beat me til my bladder
burst like the ecstasy I've
yet to own from any man's
touch
Now
I mix pink barrettes
with spiked collars
and chains but if the
grease marks from all
those soiled thumbs that
grow harder with each
spit-soaked plum
could scrub off maybe
I'd be tender enough
not to need these serrated
tips tracing scars from
nipple clips see I can
Break just as well
from the force of my
own bitter disappointment
Love
has not come in any of the
shades those stories
promised me
no gifts of rubies or jade
afterwards just the tiptoe
to that
other toilet
my belly a soft Voodoo cushion
for the Crone with pad, paper, &
spider plant to fashion pins in
as I fold further back
until seeing beyond myself
is an astral projection
the love of a man
as foreign and as longed for
as those neolithic cave dwellers
who never saw the sun
but coveted jellyfish light
despite the sting I still awaken
to the Red Room
to axes and selfies I tether to
chafed ankle bones
along the floor of this vacant sea
I wonder why the boy with the
ocean gray soul was the only one
who's ever been delicate with me
the only one who ever saw me
yet could not want me
Bleach & Bristle won't scrub
out Blemishes of mistakes I've made
I wonder if
when my mother first held me
blood-soaked placenta splattered
delicate as if my innards read like
Tarot
were my eyes pooled reflections of
the gravel laden highway she'd
already known?
Or did she fashion
my name
from an intuition
arms & heart too pillow-soft
to be a father's
An inhale too hypocritical
to be a prayer?
Dally
Our inner bard only knows one song
One story we collect in our vocal chords
We got sidetracked the other day
talking about The Outsiders.
I had just seen the film and it moved me,
cause I know those kids.
You said, "Yeah. It's one of
the two books I've actually read.
Y'know Dally? He's my favorite.
And HE died!"
And all I could think was
Baby, you ARE Dally .
He's boys like you, taught to
equate the fist with the size
of a man, when a dick's all a
blow makes you
Taught to treat tears like soiled pants
something to feel ashamed of
You learned kindness exposes
your groin for the kick
Softness a foreign word you
can only decipher if the sex is bad
and I wonder how many tail tucks
it takes to turn a dog junk yard vicious
Or forget the taste of tenderness
Dally, is it too late to remind you
to watch a sunset?
You were once a Pony
so go on a treasure hunt for
the gold they stole from you
Cause thorns smothered your
kingdom while all the adults were
sleeping
And if they'd loved you at all, they
would have at least offered you
a spindle and a needle
I get it
Even Ponies can forget
the taste of a sunset
But there's green in those
poems you spit
In that Lost Boy banner you wave
So pissed with those
confederate-shaped
rage-colored waves
carried on the wind you think
nobody notices
The mushroom cloud
The blood-stained boot
The fusion
I get it
Dally was Dally
His end
was always going to be
the same
But You
you were once a Pony
Til they broke your legs
& made you hard
But it is not to late
to go on a treasure hunt
And reclaim your sunset.
One story we collect in our vocal chords
We got sidetracked the other day
talking about The Outsiders.
I had just seen the film and it moved me,
cause I know those kids.
You said, "Yeah. It's one of
the two books I've actually read.
Y'know Dally? He's my favorite.
And HE died!"
And all I could think was
Baby, you ARE Dally .
He's boys like you, taught to
equate the fist with the size
of a man, when a dick's all a
blow makes you
Taught to treat tears like soiled pants
something to feel ashamed of
You learned kindness exposes
your groin for the kick
Softness a foreign word you
can only decipher if the sex is bad
and I wonder how many tail tucks
it takes to turn a dog junk yard vicious
Or forget the taste of tenderness
Dally, is it too late to remind you
to watch a sunset?
You were once a Pony
so go on a treasure hunt for
the gold they stole from you
Cause thorns smothered your
kingdom while all the adults were
sleeping
And if they'd loved you at all, they
would have at least offered you
a spindle and a needle
I get it
Even Ponies can forget
the taste of a sunset
But there's green in those
poems you spit
In that Lost Boy banner you wave
So pissed with those
confederate-shaped
rage-colored waves
carried on the wind you think
nobody notices
The mushroom cloud
The blood-stained boot
The fusion
I get it
Dally was Dally
His end
was always going to be
the same
But You
you were once a Pony
Til they broke your legs
& made you hard
But it is not to late
to go on a treasure hunt
And reclaim your sunset.
