I realized the other day that I have a monster inside of me. I have been trying and trying (with mixed success) to keep it quiet and corpulent by frequent feedings of sugary things for 47 or so years. It is black and oozy, with slimy rolls of dripping fat and primordial ick. It has long sticky fingers that corrupt what it touches, and it can change shape if it needs to. It's voice is a scratchy whisper that reminds me of fingernails on a chalkboard, or the sound of a dull knife cutting styrofoam. Even the thought of hearing it now gives me the shivers.
I almost remember the day it was spawned...I hear these words from a place deep inside me- so deep I can't see into the darkness of it, but the words travel up through me, and I can almost see it, myself, as such a wee little girl.
...'He finished sodomizing me and I was weeping silently. He pulled up his pants, buttoned the fly and squatted down beside me on the bed. He said "You did this to me sweetheart," as he ran his fingers through my hair and wiped the sweat and tears off my face, oh-so-gently. "This was all your fault." I looked up at him and thought "He is so big and I am so little. I must be a monster if I can make a him into a mean man and hurt me. I must be a very bad monster." And so this is, I believe, the genesis of my *monster*.
Bloated and empty
always hungry
always hurting
growling and growling
for more and more and
more
monster inside of me
No comments:
Post a Comment