The monster man breathed his last and now he is gone
he had a nice long life, a mostly peaceful time in death
but he is still gone, he is no more, so, now am I free
can I find a way to break down what he did and rebuild
but without what he did, no of course I can't do that
nothing at all about the past can be changed as such
only the way I look at it, only in the way I look away.
It doesn't matter how bloody unfair any of this is really
it doesn't change the facts, nor any of the damage done
it doesn't alter the memories, the pain, the fear, the hurt
it changes nothing except he is no more now he's gone
so can I now laugh and sing that the monster man's dead
shall I twirl madly with exhuberant joy, howl at the moon
if I do will it make any difference, no, I don't think so.
See the monster man was already dead a long time ago
he just lived in my memory, and not even the monster I knew
because I am no longer the little girl I was way back then
my memory was faulty, although I didn't realise this was so
he seemed big because I was looking at him with her eyes
I was too little to feel anything but the hurt, fear and pain
and if I looked at the monster man right now what would I see?
I'd see a small dead man, shrivelled and grey. A tiny man
dressed in his sunday best surrounded by shiny blue satin
with cracked shoes, neck tie, would he still have his teeth in
and would they still hurt ... see that is the problem right there
thinking about the monster man brings pictures and flashes
of being there all over again, of feeling him and seeing him
of wanting to run away, but wanting too to stay for my brother.
Anger, rage and grief, how to explain these powerful emotions
it feels like inky black darkness, with strobe lightening strikes
like sinking into a nothingness, a faded separate foggy place
feeling weak, alone, helpless, frightened, yet muted, dull
and trying to forget doesn't work, these images, sensations
they ambush you and drag you off at barely a moments notice
to where the back catalogue of re-runs are continually looped.
I want to go and dance there on top of your monster man grave
I want to dig you up, to open the lid and spit on your familiar face
I want to show you what real men look like, they look like mine
real men do not take very small children for their own pleasure
only monster men do things like that, only inadequate men like you
but you're gone now aren't you, you've escaped through death
and on the other side is a darkness to match your own dark soul.
Praise Song by Lucille Clifton
15 hours ago