Spontaneous Re-Combustion

Some of the pieces I put out over the past year, I think, were not as well received because I didn’t include proper commentary. I decided to reformat and comment as I reviewed one I liked but saw little interest when I wrote and published it to Bouncin’ and Behavin’ Poems In June. You can check it out here if you’d like to read it in its original form.

Like Hannah My intoxicating grief Masquerades as something Detested

In this first stanza, the comparison is set. The woman recorded in the Bible record, Hannah was harassed by the other wife in the polygamous marriage she was part of and accused of drunkenness by the high priest in the temple simply for pouring her heart out in grief to God.

The pathetic, maddened, unyielding, woman.

Stolen screams in the night “NOs” Rolled over With the power of coal steam Every ounce of strength Forced into Conducting myself To this place and time

Getting memories of trauma and child abuse back is absolutely devastating. Especially since every time I have gotten to a point of accepting one event, or truth about myself, it feels like another rung of the ladder breaks and sends me falling farther and farther. Yet, all the time, I can’t stop trying to right myself, grasping and getting more splinters.

Collapse viewed Down this reverent nose With vocal disdain Instead of being Manhandled Unceremoniously Tossed into the Prophet’s cistern With the illegally Deceased and Impetuously vain I am held up as Shocking evidence of The loose in Character What happens when Gifts are squandered Not perfected with vigor

I have come close to getting large chunks of my memory back before, and every time I had an episode connected to my PTSD, where I started coming forward with accusations and memories, I was threatened, punished, and ostracized. Leading to depression, worsening of my physical health problems, and a quick reversal of those memories surfacing. Which only encouraged that pattern to continue because it worked to silence me for so long.

Now I know the Damning truth Yet, all these devils Escape the scale’s notice Evading punishment By pointing fingers All my rocky words Melt into magma Spewing and splurting As it sears my skin I topple supine Lava trickling out Both sides In fiery rivulets.

It worked so well for so long that I feel there is no way to obtain justice for any of it. They succeeded. I can tell my story, but I have little proof except the fact that I exist and am a broken shell of a human being.

My mother controlled every aspect of my life for so long that if she wanted to, there was nothing in my life even now she couldn’t destroy, and I live in constant fear of the day she goes nuclear. She knows everything about me, knows all of the pertinent dates and governmental numbers better than I do, and can access almost any account I have because of this fact. I have taken precautions, but they are few and weak at best.

Carpet fibers combusting in Devastated flames Chairs, dresses, humanity Anything composed of Matter graced by my vitriol Light up So everyone runs Chaos ensuing

I know when she does destroy what little I will have made of my life, by that time, I will be entirely blamed for it. Told that telling my story is why I deserve to watch everything I love and the only things I have ever managed to earn and actually been given access to burn before my eyes. That it is shameful to air family laundry in public, I expect this because I have been told this before by family members and acquaintances alike.

Until the volcano of Anguish subsides Hiding away is no use People love a dazzling Fireworks display Until the rain Comes and washes The anthill away They all scamper and struggle Climbing onto rafts of refuse Floating downstream

It doesn’t matter; I am bubbling over with rage and wretched illness from being abused and lied to and about my entire life. I will share every single detail of my past, and write out every pain and fear if it means having the chance to move on.

Laying in a mangled heap Giving off hissing steam Wrath hardening In the drenching Downpour I crack and flake Skin charred and Blistered Falling away in sheets Body Changed and Unrecognizable Glassy and black Fully remade

I am renewing myself from the inside out, Building an entirely new me, like an island forming in the ocean, lava bursting and flowing, hitting the water and cooling, over and over until an entire landmass has formed and stabilized.

In pain, since That’s the only Way there is No longer crawling On my knees Lighter now Even if I’m cored and empty I stride through the storm The environment In which I thrive The rest of you can run Feebly attempting to hide

Every single horrible memory I get back and pour out to the universe in an effort to free myself is painful; I can’t deny that. It doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary and cleansing. No mere breeze will blow me over now that I am made of obsidian.

I am opaque and shining, striding through a terrifying world, becoming more comfortable with and conscious of the fact that though I am fragile, I am dense and sharp. Able to flay flesh from bone with the mere words flowing from my glossy lips.

K.B. Silver

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