Monday, July 16, 2012

What We Didn't Know

When I was a kid, what happened in your own family was the way and the truth
We knew not it was wrong when, at the age of two, our mothers turned us loose.
We also didn't know that it was wrong to beat a disobedient wife or her children;
The fathers were expected to deliver the rod to save their families from sin.

When I had children, I had no model, of how to structure my day;
It didn't help that liberated women were prioritizing girlfriend play.
I looked to the women who seemed loving and righteous to me,
But they crumbled under the lack of societal empathy.

These were the days when society began to admit
That the old rules for our families simply didn't fit.
Women were scorned for prioritizing family and home;
Husbands and wives had begun to openly roam.

I had nobody to talk to, with whom to emotionally engage,
As in my teen years, I turned to putting feelings on a page.
There are few who read what I write; some say it's too dense.
Others simply declare that it doesn't make any sense.

There were doctors and therapists I went to see,
Who thought their bodies were the way to comfort me.
The moral boundaries, I became aware then,
With the innocent and vulnerable, often get broken.

Does this happen to all to whom we confess?
Are they eventually poisoned by the pain they ingest?
Do all those that we term societies' "people helpers"
Soon need to draw, around themselves, shelters.

Some turn away in disgust and terror when I tell them the truth
About the many ways my family has suffered authorities' abuse.
They say that I'm crazy; that I should get over my past.
But our pasts make us and stay with us until the last.

Just when I feel that I have begun a new chapter,
A loved family member's life turns to disaster.
For whatever reason, they come to me to explain
Why they continue to fall, again and again.

I am happy to share with them the lessons I've learned,
Hoping to keep them from continuing to be burned.
Is it hopeless to continue unlocking the memories?
Am I part of the solution or part of the disease?

Is this the reason I lose so many after they come to me?
Are they afraid of what I know about their histories?
I am not a priest; I didn't ask them to confess.
But as a friend, parent, and aunt I tried to do my best.

I listened with what I felt was compassion,
As has always been my sisterly fashion.
I have shared what I think, as my elders would,
Except for the parts that say people aren't good.

I have finally come to the end of my caring;
I've been scorned enough for continuing my sharing.
Let them go it alone; I'll no longer be a scapegoat,
While those that burden me continue to gloat.