child haunted (i want him gone)

he haunts me!

i am torn apart

and cracked wide open

by his overwhelming presence

that clings to

my side. he towers

over me in a

desaturated red glow

and i've tried

drawing him, as if to set him free,

as if to separate him from me, but

he only clings closer and pulls

me beneath the water,

trying to drown me. his hands

grope along my body

and i scream and cry and

wish i were dead. i am

only a child. i am only

a child. i beg and plead

and ask this not to be real

and then i wonder

if it even is, or if this is

merely my brain trying

to process my (yet)

(unfounded) fears. i

try to write poems

about him, and i

draw him, as if he

will leave me that way. i

haven't seen him in years. i see

him now as he was

when i was nine,

ten,

eleven,

twelve,

thirteen. supposedly

he is now living his

best years, wrinkled and sad

and looking sickly and pale.

i wish i could erase him from

my mind forever. i want him gone

and gone and gone and gone.

i don't want to know if he

did those things when i was

a kid. i don't want to know

what he did or why or what

he said or when he did things and i

don't want to be this confused

anymore. he was gone !

he was gone in my head--

an afterthought, a last line in a poem and

the last words to an answer.

yeah, he's my--

he's my--

i don't want to say it! he was

gone! he was gone! i want

him gone again, and i--

i'm sobbing, clutching my head

in my hands.

why would i do this to myself?

why would i say that, yes, he

might have--probably did--could

have--would have--did those

things to me,

a child,

a child,

a child. why would i

forget,

only

to argue with myself

in disbelief later. why would i

hide this from myself,

if it even happened, and why

would i let myself

hold such disbelief in it?

why this

war?

(i want him gone already. can he)

(please be gone again)

(please? please--please could he)

(be gone again? make him)

(leave)