Fuck you god damned mother

hate and loathing are too kind for you
there's no delicate way to put this
I sat in the tub, warm water is like that womb
But that reminded me of who it was
that I was trapped inside for nine
months
that slime infested pus covered bitch
I was supposed to call
Mother Dear
I wished that the birth certificate was a
death certificate
I wished that I had been born a twin
so I could find comfort in somebody
during those first four and ten
So at twenty seven we had our last fight
physical conflict, mental abuse never stops

I remember sitting on the floor of my room
One more night of trying to figure out
what that was for dinner .... something sort of boiled
cries again, wish I could stop
Seven years of tears, I remember
wondering why I had to cry all of the time
Why did I sleep on the floor?
Would I ever be safe?
I could never make a noise. If I
did -- I would get ---- IT
Once that was a brush thrown so
hard at my face, that it cracked
in half as it left my cheek.
I watched her brush her hair with
it for years afterwards.

Once it was a nine year old
getting pinned down onto a staircase
so I only saw the spit and white
mucus spraying from the Marlboro
reaking lips. What was being yelled?
Who the fuck can remember
when the skull holding all
concious thought is being drummed into
the wooden stairs?

Once it was, "go out and play'
New England Winter. No other child
around. "Come in at 5"
wind blowing. 20 degrees. wind chill 7 degrees.
it was 11 am.
I wished you were dead.

Or what about the time of months at a time
being taken from school because
you were bored, you needed someone to run
for cigarettes, or you needed to get out
your aggressions, disagreements or frustrations.
Truant officers made remarks about my
bare feet as they pulled me from the hiding
spot in your room.

The runaway. A garbage bag of clothes
A teddy bear. Missing an eye. First snowfall.
hadn't been fed in two days.
This evening's bruises still fresh.
Sharper than the wind of the first snow of the year
blowing into the face.
razors pinch blood soaked hair.
Five dollars taken from Mother Dear's purse.
I knew this is what I did.
I know this is what you lied about.
With my big ticket I wandered.
Beech Street. Then down Center.
10 at night. I thought it was 4 am.
I was seven.
passing the grocery store-- young guy saw me.
Fed me chocolate. hot. no cream.
Thought my 5 bucks was a ticket to the Holiday Inn.
The boys in the grocery story called
the cops.
Fucking cops.
Fucing Irish fifth generation
Boston Police Officers
I was seven.
back of the car, driving to Mother dear.
I told them I was beaten.
I told them I wanted to go to my dad
I told them she'd beat me.
again.
But I didn't exist
I was seven.
She cried and thanked those guys
Blood down chin from hand slapped mouth
Night near done. As was childhood.
I was seven.

Then there were the men.
Fred Eddie Willie Brendan
met them at the Oasis, then determined
they were alcoholics, as is anyone
who crosses you

Whatever happened. Happened? Whatever
you destroyed in the name of love
relishing the control. the inconvenience
of having children in order to be a
Mother.

The fingernails filled with my flesh
the swollen hands from slapping my face
the anger because I still tried to walk away
The self hate and apologetic hugs
Hugs that were willed with rapid
rabbit heartbeats
fear everytime you entered the room
What would you try today?

Then pregnant
told my grade school teacher that
the new baby was mine
That I was troubled
That made you feel good, didn't it

Now I had three children to raise
you, him, sister

"god" sucks
people wonder how there is
atheism
I wonder, how many parables and
teachings mean less than
slogans-- live it or die -- you lie
organized hate marches
abuse in the name of "god"
"it's god's way"
Once I was given a baptism
my hair was pulled away from
my back away from
my skull into the
water hot, until I stopped
crying until I stopped
breathing
Amazing, having to go to
the hospital for yet another
"asthma attack"
In the name of god
Her god.

physical scars from the ages of 6 until 10
thirteen
mental scars from birth until now
innumerable

When I was a little girl I had hour long
interviews with Mike Douglas
Inside escape
outside

I was trying to think of what was the worst
too much keeps replacing the last
thought

Let me tell you what the
venemous self involved
female breeder looked like
Imagine an ash colored flesh
that surrounds round somewhat
bulging blood green eyes
her lips grow thinner, her face, fatter
every day
I hated I LOVE LUCY-- she had
That voice.
I remember a smell of old
unclean underwear, or maybe it
was unclean body I don't remember
her ever showering
Her cheeks were flat and round at once
Her body at one time was soft and round
now it is round
The lines are scars from the last
cigarette drag
A stench that lingers for months into years of mind

I'd like to personally thank the
people who saw my bruised body
day in and day out and said nothing
who brought me to the school nurse
because I complained of a stomach ache and did
nothing
who never heard the late night screams
of terror
my teachers, who now by law are
required to give a shit

What women do in the name of "mother"
Attempt two.
courts removed dirty flesh from impure home
twelve. Pre teen. never fit in.
Not as small girl
Not as young child
Not as child
Not as not teen
Now brought to new house
not as daughter
not as child
Not as anything but a winning in court
guess we showed her
I beg for reprieve
relief
life
love

Mom Squared. Anti christ called her
"That Woman"
Dad called her, wife
I called her, drunk
No more slaps
Instead I became titles.
I became lazy
I became stupid
I became unattractive, ugly
unwanted
I became locked in room
records were my love
records were my love
records were my love
music was my escape
only friend
understood
seven years 10 til 17
Elton and Daltrey
Boston and Bush
But always my love
Then came the Ramones
Ziggy Stardust
My knights in ugly skin
Man who fell to earth
I wrote
from six until now
I wrote
paper, Townsend squealing
guitar and pen
Me feeling like
here I fit in
Guitar player
No one else's tunes
My music
parents

Cancer tumor
California, after ten years
Wife #3, gentler yet
still lost with suicide son
Not strong enough for me
Cancer tumor
In graduate school
Still fearing human contact
still living alone
still believing sqared wife's labels
still worthless
still fighting
cancer tumor
Hospital. Fever 104 degrees. Three days
lost job
accepted death-- hoped it wouldn't
hurt as much as life does
Day five. Fever broke
who called?
nobody
who cared
nobody
Amazing how abuse continues 29
years away from a womb
and nurturing hand of mother dear
neglect
cord cut
operation create words
stage soon after became
mother
finally
a nurturing love