deepundergroundpoetry.com

Your Judgement Can Now Be Fact-Based

 
There was this boy a rather strange boy
Who started this life when he was five
Pre-five memories cloaked in a red fog
Of mental illness and shrieks of a banshee
And the violence and screaming of a man
A baby who was shut down by trembling
His first real remembrance was him at five
A time to wake up to the smells and taste
The horror story he had sadly been born into

He was abused by his mother in the worst way
That a mother was more than capable off
His trembling was justified, a fear made real
By experiencing her paranoid schizophrenia
He was physically abused by his alcoholic father
There were constant beatings torture and mental abuse
This psychopathic narcissist man racked up the fear
To the terror of his unholy wrath and tattooed fists
His trembling became his normal state of flux

This boy was taught to miss his abusive mother
As his father took over the mantle of sexual deviance
A boy of eight was schooled by this satanic presence
The sins of the father carried out on the body of his son
His youngest son suffering mentally and physically
At his heavy hands and other parts of his anatomy
A life worse than any horror movie before or since
Constant prayers for rescue from God and the angels
Unanswered apparently god was always out to lunch

At eight he was frog marched to a local baptist church
By a father in tears of regret but were they crocodile?
Had he finally snapped, or had the sex become boring?
The boy sat in a wooden carved ornate chair for hours
Then his father confidently emerged from a darkened room
He couldn't look at me, he marched past leaving him there
The boy dared to think that maybe god's rescue had arrived
By this smiling man of the cloth, maybe prayers were answered
But rescue came in the form of a holy rape in gods name
Followed by five years of regular bible study rape meetings

He did not understand the concept being so young and scared
But he had been sex trafficked by his own father who continued
To violently and mentally assault the boy at for no good reason
This was preferable to what the evil men in the dark suits did
Thrown from pillar to post like a dog toy: Just a boy in tatters
At twelve he experienced a new feeling, a slow awakening
A quiet revolution of rage building a head of pressured steam
A hunting knife placed at the neck of the man of the cloth
The threat to kill and expose was all it took for it to all stop
Lesson learned god useless the solution was a very sharp knife

The boy now made others fear through violence and intimidation
In the fostering system, he grew and honed his righteous rage
So the dark shadow of a boy had become the husk of a man
A bully not knowing love but only violence had been well tutored
Martial arts and boxing taught new lessons of successful violence
Smoking and alcoholism taken on as traditional Glaswegian fare
At nineteen acts of violent vengeance carried out on others behalf
No abuser was safe from his ire filled, weapon of choice
Fists flew, kicks were savagely aimed and blood was spilt
Confidence built with every vengeful act and fear disappeared

Well almost: He still had a few carefully hidden fears
Fear of women, fear of any sexual contact and relationships
The fear he was becoming his father laid heavily upon him
Waking up from a drunken alcohol and drug-fueled stupor
He was outside looking down at himself thinking 'Gary Glitter!'
A covering of morning dew glinted in the morning sunshine
The song "Do You Wanna Be In My Gang?" played on a loop
The answer became a resounding 'NO!' and the universe revolved
Like a Damascus road conversion or a moment of mindful clarity
Despite being a husk of a man he became a new creation
And by force of will in an instant, he changed his path

The fact was he was still this frightened little boy
An empath without knowing what an empath was
He would rather die than become his abuser's toy
Life was still hard, it is always hard and by twenty-one
Had two suicide attempts which were not cries for help
He really wanted to die, guilt and shame form the past
Always haunting him, tortured in thoughts and nightmares
Although his mission rarely faltered, darkness was forever close
Manic highs and deep depressional lows not yet diagnosed
Virginity finally lost at twenty-five through frantic fumbling

He fell in love too easily as he was desperate to be loved
His first love was innocent, but her's was not: Temptress
The second love, virginity lost to her, he married her: Mistake
She was a narcissist, took him 35 years to realise that
Through her many affairs and demands for material gain
My third love - his lips are sealed - a flame still burns
All three loves were not mutual eventually unrequited
After his divorce, his children in the main took her side
She was an expert at poisoning the well playing the victim
None of his children shows love and three of them ignore him
They have isolated him, deliberately, they are selfish cowards
He has apologised several times to them for any mistakes I made
Three of the cowards spat it back in his face with venom
They are now classified as toxic and we all know what happens now

Love appears to be a myth - real love that is
Most people have no clue what real love is
Love of a few friends on the internet is real
And He has been adopted as a Jewish Mother
By a very caring family in real life - that makes him smile
There are loving people out there - but they are rare
In fact, an internet crazy druid saved his life
He had planned to commit suicide by hunger strike
He had a documentary team ready and willing to film it
He planned to last 40 days with all my faculties intact
And daily he would appear on youtube to rant and vent
He had about half of the rants scripted
He had planned to do it in a country that would not interfere
So a crazy druid managed to talk him out of it
Occasionally he thinks he should have done it

He now lives an isolated and lonely life
He has no legs to speak off
He has been diagnosed with Bipolar
Daily he experiences the horrors of PTSD
He has been bullied into silence on a poetry site
Several assholes still talk and write shit about him
The slap talk of keyboard cowardly warriors
If they met in the street the story would be different
When he was feeling suicidal they said be like Nike
And just do it! - what sick individuals they still are
People are vile and very ugly both inside and out
They should be pitied not scolded

This is his confessional poem
He has been broken down
But that is necessary for healing
It seems too late but change is gonna come
I have always thought I was unloveable
Unsavable, heartbroken and oppressed
I hereby release these toxic avengers
Through forgiveness, light and love
I will pray that these merciless trolls
Will have their eyes opened wide
Giving the room to let the light in
This is the calm before his storm
The truth is now out there
David_Macleod
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
Published
Author's Note
the Past is Dead
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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