Daddy dearest

I don’t understand your reasoning

As you unload what

You feel are my short-comings; my failures as wife,

As your daughter, of non-existent mother, of sister, as Aunt,

As friend and finally as human, walking alone on this earth.



Dearest Father,

Why, is it that you always struck first before you stopped to ask what we

Ever did wrong in the first place? If anything.

What was that suppose to teach me father?

To fear you? To fear all men?

You got your wish, I’ve managed to pick the ones you disagree with

The ones whom hurt me, and just stand there and take it and be gracious

For whatever they are willing to get from me.



Daddy Dear,

I needed you to believe me when I came home at 10;

When I showed his bite marks on my inner thighs, when I showed you that I was

Still bloody in places that wouldn’t stop; after his dogs….

And yet—you looked through me.

You called me white trash that day, a tramp, a whore, a liar

A slut who’d spred her legs for anyone.

You told me that had sinned against you, daddy for lying,

That I had sinned against god; that you could and would beat it out of me.

To this very long day, so many years have passed us away and still you do not believe

He hurt me, why daddy? Why don’t you believe me?

Why did you believe your step-brother whom you told us always, made you feel strange anyway, over your own, daughter, why? Please daddy, I need to know, now?



Now, Dad, dear, it’s been more years than I am comfortable with

And you still blame me for all

That has happened—

You think I am somehow tainted, evil you continue to push uncle on me—

A surprise offering when my life

Is already gone to crap.

Then you think this is my fault too

That somehow my S.O.’s addiction and his denial is my fault. I cannot force him to get help, I’ve tried to suggest that only to be smacked down literally from whence I stood.

He sees no trouble as he wakes me up at 3am—making that sound as belt hitting naked flesh over and over again… for me it’s a nightmarish sound, usually still heard in some nightmares, that I don’t speak of…



Sometimes he’ll reach out and slam my leg with the belt, causing me to forget that I’ve been in one position too long and I immediately fall to the floor, legs numb due my disability and years of being what my father deems was a “clumsy child” although the doctors know different. My husband now thinks, it’s a commercial in the making… “the fat old hag has fallen and she cant get up, not even with her broom or her knight in shining armor.” Then he leaves the room—chuckling to himself and his god. Meanwhile I am promising not to cry. I remember that he is like this every evening that he takes too much medication, or takes it the wrong way … always the same way… the worst is always worse yet to come, something he won’t remember in the morning. but i will.... i always will.



I always remember when he wakes me again… his hand across my windpipe

And he takes his husband’s rights to me, per his god’s law… per the pastor. I try not to cry, it angers him, he doesn’t understand why I have tears for sorrow but not for lubricating his entry, that’s always dry and painful. Rape is rape.

Mind, body and soul… sometimes I’d rather just cut the pain away permanently.