Plath said hers had a Meinkampf look,
A man in black
With love of the rack and the screw,
But Daddy,
Daddy, I don’t know what to make of you.
I read her words at twenty,
A dagger trailing red to the core
And then put you away –
Tried to scar the slice of truth,
To Heal the Wound of You.
Half a life wasted
Missing a man not worthy,
The apparition fading into mist,
A little girl’s dream deferred to
The Bright Alarm of You.
Half another life wasted
Baking beneath the surface,
A Centralia of coal fire stoked with knowledge
How you wielded fear with fists and words and cock
To Justify the Power of You.
They all got to leave,
In turn,
The women named Kim and Deb and Michelle and Teresa and more,
Finding that thing inside more
Powerful Than the Power of You.
They rendered you impotent.
I wish I could
See you as less than
Sower of seed, sower of doubt,
I wish I didn’t see the Image of You.
In Me.
**For those unaware, Centralia is a ghost town in Pennsylvania abandoned due to a coal fire seething underground that started in 1962 and could continue to burn for the next 250 years.**
Sleeping on the Diagonal 
Your words floor me
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Thank you. I’m just trying to write my truth. Most of the time it’s folly, but sometimes it is decidedly not..
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This poems is so good and so raw I don’t know what to say. When you tackle the hard stuff, you truly find your voice. Your avatar suddenly looks a few years older to me.
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Thank you for such kind words. I could write tomes on the hard stuff but somehow poetry seemed better at this moment. It forces me to lock the logic and reasoning out and just let it be emotion. And yes, that avatar is sprouting some gray hairs for sure.
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