The Dialogians

Oh, My Throw-Away Child, Below the Cut, Says I, Jesus!  I Love You! But I Don't, Says I. Therefore, Listen! Be loyal; don’t whimper your pain. I have never been the same, thank you. Such shame, since he held me captive there, In fear and reproach, in fear, in Fear. He grabbed me by the short hairs of imagined longings, I was a child, a little boy; I just wanted a mommy, but she Never could remove herself from not wanting me. So there I rested anxiously, like a trapped animal, Begging for freedom I understood not, yet he beckoned Me, alone, isolated, guilty, overflowing with rage, marooned With his remorseless vigor.  But his higher power called him like sirens, and I… I cannot sing.  These words choke me.  He cleaned my back, which stung from the bullets of his burns. “Go out and play.” But now I just pray. I begged, “Mom, please don’t go” (that’s different than wanting her), But she said “Why?”  With a glare, and all I did was stare at the floor. My only friends back then were the butter-knives struck in the doorjamb.  Usually they skittered across the bathroom floor, except once.  Listen… One fine day, twelve knives in the doorjamb, he couldn't force his way in... again,  HA! I WAS SO CLEVER.  I’m out of harm's way, physically, except I caved at his threats, and never tried…again, to protect me, ever. Soaring through the air, with no fanfare, my head smacked the wall, POW!  POW!  POW!  I saw stars. I interpreted those stars like an astrologer, I suppose, I lined up the holes in the plaster, I was proud.  I fought back!  I was alone, you see…in His room.  I wiped my remnants on the walls.  Even the headshrinker thought I was nuts.  Hee!  Hee! I even peed on his toothbrushes, secretly.  Sorry, I’m not! But I was so silent, so unaided, crawling through my Little world, busily shielding his reign of terror. Freedom was my bike, being alone, and a God who I didn’t know yet. My bike never hurt me.  It was an Schwinn.  Do you like Schwinn's?  God let Schwinn be my God.  Thank you God, for loving me.  Really.  There’s no prison wall so thick that God can’t get through it.  I know this Way down deep, where it counts. God and Schwinn love little boys, you know. And so do you.  That’s why I’m still here.Do you know me? Or do you recoil. Either way, I love. Written November 27th, 2001 © on Jan 02 2003 05:39 AM PST, Timothy G Cameron    18 • 0 • 1