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

twisted

brotherly love
twisted
into cruelty and rape

sisterly affection
twisted
into humiliation and pain

school friends
twisted
into bullies and shaming

all my life
good has been twisted to bad
until i no longer trust
an offer of help or companionship

my dreams
twist into nightmares
that leave me exhausted
frightened
and alone

my world
is white twisted black
or black twisted white
there are no greys
any hope for color
lost in the agony of truth

joy twists to sorrow
and laughter to tears
trust is lost
in the tangles
of my undying past

and my soul remains
twisted

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