Prosetry : My Son's Letter _ a short memoir by jusylee72 |
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language. Last Wednesday many of you touched me with your response to my poem, "The Forgiveness Rainbow." It's inspiration was a poem letter that my oldest son wrote to me. There is more I would like you to know. I rarely let life get me down. Not anymore, that is. After I got this letter I simple couldn't function. The tears fell down for hours. I tried to go to work the next day. I made it all the way to the school parking lot before I called the office and told them I simply couldn't come in. I thought I was over all those years of abuse. But his poem was so intense, so graphic and so full of love for me that I couldn't stop my emotions. He didn't blame me. He questioned it, yes, but he didn't blame me. He was only about eight years old back then. I wasn't ready to escape the vicious cycle of abuse we were in. It still took me another few years to leave. The damage I did to my children is unforgivable. All three of my children are survivors. I will tell you more about them later. My son has been watching me grow over the years. He encourages me to write. He believes it will help others. He asked me to share his poem with you. He told me he wrote it in the style that I sometimes write. I do ask this. Don't edit his writing. The Pauses, the spaces are his not mine and they are such a part of the eight year old world he remembers. The bad language is how he feels about it now. He is 31. He is a professional UFC fighter. He is famous and you can watch his fights on television. This is the hardest truth I have ever told. With the written permission of Nik Lentz. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "What a Wonderful day" By Nik Lentz I once stood outside a gas Station with my mother.... Tears in her eyes.... . ...as she scratched through lottery ticket after lottery ticket A loser A loser A loser A loser And yet again... another fuckin' loss. Her finger tips bright silver, Her soul crushed, We stood in silence. For being 5 foot nothin' and a little heavy for her size, my mother had one of the best chins in the "game" ....and tonight, it would be tested. Puzzled, but in no hurry to get back to our broken and violent home. We stood Together... Why not just buy beer like she was supposed to? Why waste money on an insignificant chance at riches? Why do we live in a Dangerous place, with no Money, no food, no time, no Fun ... ....a horrid waste of existing in a fear based duplex'ial nightmare of limited space and a fear so deep it literally shook our bones and rotted our teeth. Nope... Silence was definitely what the doctor ordered So we waited, backs against the hot concrete, Both thinking of what our "duty" meant to us. Could we abandon our post tonight!? Let the hammer of Budweiser swing past our heads and land ...just ONE time...on someone else. Could we for one day be a family that didn't run on alcohol and broken dreams... Could we go home and have a real American dinner... Instead of "Long noodle" "Short noodle" "Brick noodle" "Crunchy noodle" Or Whatever the fuck name you can make up, to pretend that you're not eating the same pack of Roman Noodle soup you ate the day before, and the day before that, and the months before that one!? Could we realize in this moment... That overtime, the Tennessee Butcher would get us all!! ...and nothing we did, no bomb we fell on or beating we took Would lessen the teachings of sadistic pleasure that we all learned in the secret society that was our family? We could! but we didn't... and in that moment, next to a gas station, in the hot sun of a Texas summer, We looked into each other's eyes, reached out our hands, interlocked our fingers, put a smile on our faces ... and started our slow death march towards the American dream. And I shit you not..... we sang "Hakuna Matata." ________________________________________________________________________________ Nik, Mandy and Matthew are amazing success stories. Nik, a professional Athlete ( and maybe someday a writer) Mandy, a Lawyer Matthew, a mechanic for BMW We never went back after we left. We only went forward.
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