Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry

Day 161


I scatter petals on my past
To stop the smell of rot and lies.
I turn my hands palms down
To reject the untruths of memory,
The cosy pictures of happy families
That disguise torture and pain.
I turn my back on the myths
To write new legends of truth.
They told us, then, that to share
A word of family outside family
Was an eternal sin punishable
By exclusion. We fell silent
In their sight only, and shared
Some of the realities of their
Mistreatment of us behind
Campfires and silent tents.
We looked for and found
An escape of a sort, a side door
Away from the madness they bred
Into us, they fed to us, they bled
Into our scarred skin. Sometimes
We misread possession as love
When they waved at the door
And cast spells on us we couldn’t
See or feel to draw us back into
Their orbit. I throw fine-smelling
Perfumes on those stinking memories
Now that I am finally free.

R 10/06/2022 00:30

I write this at half past midnight, so it counts as something original written today. I have slayed some dragons of my own today.




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