Waiting For The Wind To Pick Up

This?
This one was inspired by you
and this?
This led me to thinking about the way life is
or how people try to speak
and yet, no one listens to hear.
They seem to only listen
so they know how to respond.

But this?
This is for you,
The victim
The hero
The truth
And this?

This is for a voice
that never had the right to scream
or to say, “He is the one who did this to me.”
and just in case you are too afraid to say anything
or scream.
That’s okay . . .
I can scream this for you.

I suppose the hardest thing to do
at times like this
is to listen and hear what a person says
instead of listening to respond
or to make them “feel better.”
Then again, of course,
letting them speak
or letting them have their day in court,
if they should choose to do so
or letting them scream or cry
or letting them get this off their chest
Is, in fact
the one and only thing that will make them
feel better. And this is hard too

You know?
To listen . . .
I told you
this is hard for me to process
the assumption, which almost excuses
and sort of justifies the wrongful touch
as if to say,
It wasn’t the first time
or the last.

It’s hard to hear what they say
the one you love and care for
because when you hear them,
you listen, and when you listen,
you hear their truth,
which makes them real,
which makes their stories real
and when they become real,
they become heard
and therefore, no one can deny them anymore
or ever again.

And this?

This is what we call validation
because when you listen,
you validate the fact that yes,
something DID happen, and no  . . .

No drug can alter our perception
and no amount of money can buy
someone a new history.

But more, when you hear them
or when you hear someone you love
break down and tell you their truth
and when you listen to their story,
you can hear their pain
and then you can hear the bravery it takes
for them to stand up for themselves
and say hey, yes,
this happened to me.

Once this is out
there is no going
back in . . .

I remember  . . .
the young girl who approached me
after class
And how she approached me
to tell me what happened. 

I remember her story and how the result
left her pregnant and still, regardless of the aftermath,
and regardless of what happened
and despite who the father is or was,
she carried her child to term
and raised her son and when he matures
and grew to the age of 18,
she decided to stand up for herself
and come forward.

She held her rape a secret
and then one day,
she decided to tell her truth.

She tried this once before
but no one listened to hear her,
they only listened to respond
and save the family from the shame
of what took place

I heard you
I listened 
You showed me a glimpse
and now your world belongs to me too

It is hard when you hear
someone tell you what happened.
It is hard when they tell you
about the beatings or worse,
when you hear about their secrets
or how their stains marked their childhood
to destroy the purity of their youth
and devour their future
with the belief that somehow,
this was all their fault to begin with

I know there has to be
a special spot in Hell and hopefully,
their Hell comes in the most brutal form
and yet, I realize the rage and how
my rage makes this more about me
and more about revenge and ego
when in fact, none of this
is about me

But as someone who loves and cares
all I want to do is take your pain away
and transfer it to where it belongs
or deserves to go 

Of course, there is the obvious psychology
and of course, we understand
that intellectually, none of this
was our fault and none of this was on us.
But logic is logic and emotion is emotion.
Sick is sick
and sickness can become sicker
when we bury our truths
and hide our scars
beneath our subconscious layers
and hide from our past
like a child left to hide in the darkness.

You can come out now
I am here
If you want me to be

Of course, if I could I would

Of course, if I could
I would punish the first person
who stole your preciousness
and poisoned your purity
which caused you to believe
that perhaps somehow,
you had this coming
all along.

If I could I would

Of course, I would
because if I could, I would create a pain
that never goes away, 

just like the stain or the mark they left behind
which is both invisible and undeniable
and yet, their denial of their crimes
or their plea of “not guilty,”
defends them in a court of law.
But my courts are different.
I see no defense
Or escape
Or excuse

There is no safety in my court

but my court is not the court
that goes in session
I have no moral boundaries for this
and there is no safety, at least
not like their P.C. which they sign for
which stands for protective custody
when someone “like them”
goes behind bars.

There is a special spot in Hell
for someone like this
but me saying this makes
this about me and not about you

So for now, let me listen

Let me hear you

Let me hold my tongue
and let me hold this and let me take this
from you.

Let me let you let this go
and let me help you by being heard
because if I hear you,
then this becomes real
and if this is real, then yes,
this reveals the truth and of course
the truth hurts but maybe . . .

Maybe if I listen to hear,
then maybe you can heal
from a mark you never asked for
and then maybe you can get away
from a pain or a touch that
no child ever wanted 
or deserved to endure.

Let me listen . . .

The rest will come
when Hell comes for breakfast

And of course, it’d be nice
to be locked in a cage
with the man like “him,”
and make him feel
what it felt like to you

But that . . .
That  part is on me
Not you 

Blessed Father,

Grant me the ability to bring peace
and teach me to deescalate
instead of escalating the situation
and make things worse
(or harder)
Blessed Father
rather than my outrage the fire from my hatred
let me be a beacon of your hope
instead of the breath from a demon’s wrath.

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord”
“I will repay!”
Blessed Father,
I know you say this

And yes –

I hope so
But please know
if I am chosen, then send me

 I will go and if allowed,
I will be a vehicle of your revenge
and show the blind your justice
and show no mercy to someone
who deserves to die.

I am no judge
I am not fit for the jury
I am not fit to be the executioner
But if i am called
then I will be called.

Send me, Lord.
I’ll go
And I will take him down to hell with me
and ask for seconds when the devil’s fire
hits my flesh

One day . . .
That man and I . . .

We will dance to a tune
That he never expected
And I?
I will do my time
Like a man
Untouched
and untested.