He tried to block her rage with his hand
But she was too big
And she was angry

She was always angry

A welt on his wrist
led to wounds,old and new.
Delicate young flesh, corrupted

A big man in a uniform had a camera
Flashes filled the too full room
The boy's face was red with emotion

Mom cried, Dad punched something
They had put their trust in a stranger
and their child had paid with his hide

With time he forgot her twisted face
His flesh mended just fine
But little triggers still fire snapshots
of a sick womans rage

The scent of a musky room
A worn leather belt
A hand raised too quickly

Meatloaf

Yeah, meatloaf

These and others can still
make him cringe.

Things that should be nothing
Bring him back to a dark place
A place of fear,hatred, pain

As more time passes
some of these will retire from his mind
But until then he would like to say "thanks".


"Thanks for the memories, you miserable bitch".



( the first version of this made it sound like my mom was the abuser,when in fact it was a "care giver" )

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