danger ahead
icy roads
hairpin turns
steep decent
these are the days
my life feels like
a treacherous mountain highway
with no guardrails
and no brakes
in the rain
Poems
Poetry and Prose. Good, Bad, & Indifferent I suppose
used – ta – could
there was a time
i could pretend
it was the way
things should be
big brother
teaching me
how it was
to be all growed up
i got to hang out
with him and his friends
and maybe be rewarded
with ice cream
or candy
if i didn’t scream
or cry
and that’s how big-brother-love was
after the first time
when i was beat
by our father
when i tried to tell
big boys don’t tattle
it’s weird
but as painful
as horrible as things were
i knew what to expect
any more
i’m lucky if i know
what day it is
and there really isn’t
much to look forward to
sometimes
i miss the days
that i use-ta-could
accept …
no
pretend to accept
my life
on the precipice
he stepped carefully
eyes locked on the other side
to the far side of the narrow ledge
it took all his willpower
to not look down
to not lose himself
in the black abyss
that swirled beneath him
ebony water that waited
for him to slip
then to engulf him in death
another step
arms out
watch the balance
don’t look down
easy
just a little further
progress was slow
against the storm
that tore at his skin
and the wind
that threatened to lift
and throw him
if he could only reach…
MARCUS STEPHEN KRUGER
get in this house right now young man
it is pouring outside
you’re getting drenched
the boy looked across at his mother
standing on the porch
holding the door open
giggling he jumped
from the fence rail
splashing into the puddle
before running
top speed
into the house
and out of the rain
the sweet fragrance of fear
there
in the shadows
ominous and dark
his hands clenching
at his sides
his presence as potent
as the scent of burnt tar
on a summer afternoon
i sit up in my bed
shaking
tears streaming
down my face
while my mind remains lost
in the past
crouched in the corner
of the dark, dank basement
i know what he wants
my body hurts
the memories of his abuse
forever frozen
in my muslces
i want so much
to be free –
free of him
of his touch
of his power
of his presence in my mind
someone
please
keep me safe
i am unable
to protect myself
any longer
fragmented history
It was in my third year
she abused me
And in therapy we’re finding
pieces of three
Two more years she would have me
don’t know how I survived
As I have discovered
pieces of five
We then moved to a new city
a new home – a new state
And for three years my brother
gave me pieces of eight
For two more years torture
from him and his friends
But she left and got married
at least one part did end
… somewhere deep in my mind there hide
pieces of ten
From eleven to fourteen
no memories exist
So here – no new pieces
have been found to resist
Yet I wonder and worry
we’ve unearthed something new
And my world – once more shaken
by pieces
of two
partials
when you know only pieces
and scattered at that
of a time when things didn’t go so right
and then later in life
when your guard isn’t up
another piece falls into the light
and those horrible thoughts
from your imagination
don’t even come close to what’s real
you have to sit back
and wonder a bit
was it worth all the effort to feel
battle scars
the wounds are real
the scars – numerous
they are not to be seen
for they are within my soul
and i protect them well
bruises
cuts and abrasions
nothing superficial
bathed in salt
and left open to any
close enough
telltale signs
of yesterday’s wars
within me
fighting to maintain
to stay afloat
and not succumb
to the bitter desire
to rest
the few
allowed to seehave either
not understood
or
torn them open
in a vain attempt
to mock my pain
and gain their own
self worth
i cannot
will not
submit myself
to further ridicule
and humiliation
and so
deny the very existence
of those things
that hurt me most
the ever-present reminders
of horrors witnessed
upon myself
by others
