Poetry/story

I saw him

Strapped to a pole

In the middle of town.

His hands

His feet

Bound.

It appears

As I look closely now

more of a wooden stake

Some leather

Some nails

Him standing like his feet

Are willingly on the ground.

His head is bald

So much time has passed

He had silky blonde hair

When I saw him last

40 years ago

The demon

Of my past.

His hands are behind his back

Around the wooden pole

Tacked.

He is exposed there

In the cold

Skin peeling from the sun

Years and years

Of that water, sun, fun.

Fun

Fun

Fun.

No one looks at him

Not a quick glance

It is as if this place

Still stay lost in a trance.

Persecuted

Or persecutor

They do not care

They dare not lift their heads

You know,

The glare.

They follow heels

Left

Right

Left

Right

He would indefinitely

Be staying there.

Night

After

Night.

I stood

Swinging my arms

Moving my feet back and forth

Hmm

How SHALL I go forth

As a child

Forever scorn?

Or as a woman?

Oh I am torn.

I feel like a child

Seeing him there

A twinge of fear

Yet

I stare

Unwavering

My eyes become dry

As I’ve forgotten to blink

My mind has become flooded

With this

Scene

The

Memories

I’d been here before

Just him

And me

He was naked then

I remember the bathroom steam.

I say, now, as a woman,

“Hey, remember me?”

He lifts his eyes

His head still down

He chuckles

Like a circus clown

A bit more quiet

From back then

Til now.

My body shudders

It recalls

This sound.

What had I expected

From a pedophile

Does a coward

Smile?

Unscathed?

Me in exile.

An apology?

Nothing would change

My disgust

At the mention

Of his name.

Nothing would make his wrongs

Alright.

None of this

Would ever be…

Fine!

Like those

Who laugh

Over aged wine.

That’s still them.

So many of them

So little of my kind.

Stay focused!

This moment

It’s mine.

Wait,

If everyone is on autopilot

Why was he then here

In this spot

Cold

Who in this place

Had finally gone rogue!

I looked around

My mother?

My father?

Who would finally defend

After 40 years

A child, a woman, a daughter.

People kept walking

Shopping

Not stopping

Gossiping

About someone or other Gosling.

I pull out my switch blade

Opened it with a click

I contemplate…

His throat

Or his dick.

I have the anger

I have the rage

Everyone says it

“Bethany’s angry state.”

Heaven forbid

I feel

From beneath this armor plate

Of steel

Surrounding my heart

From this horrific “ordeal”

Yet,

In this moment

I kneel.

I feel the knife

In my tight grip

And in one scream of agony

In the ground the knife

I stick.

I see him

Strapped to a pole

In the middle of town,

Slowly pulled the knife out

And cut him down.

Death and suffering

Is not what I want

I did contemplate

A little kick

Or a stomp

But thought better

And walked away

He’d already sealed his fate

40 years ago

To the day.

Who strung him up?

It’s not mine to say.

I’m not what anyone thinks

Or unjustly portrays

I am

Simply

A survivor,

Bethany Kays.

19 thoughts on “Poetry/story

  1. Very powerfully spoken, and deeply moving. You have tremendous courage and spirit, Bethany. Thank you for sharing this with us. I don’t feel my words can quite convey how much this impacted on me… honest, gutsy, and beautifully expressed. Keep writing … you have the gift. 🌻

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wow what a piece. I actually got chills from this one. So powerful and so much truth in it. I love it. I love that you speak your truth even against all the odds and all those evil people who have tried to stop you. You don’t know it, but you are inspiring others just like you and just like me to keep going. Thank you. I love you!

    Liked by 1 person

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