Recurring Nemesis

shadow

Image source: Google

Recurring Nemesis

He was nonchalant, dismissive, scornful

of me. Always has been, from our first meeting

way back before memory. His visits

leave me fitful, restless, waking in a

 

frightful sweat, but only when I force my

release from his domineering grip. Or

perhaps only when he releases me

out of boredom and acute disgust.

 

He visited me last night, as he has

many nights before. Though I don’t recognize

him, he is oddly familiar. His smug smile

lives in every bully who has ever

 

toyed with my meekness. His unforgiving glare

is in every bystander who ever

had their doubts of my abilities proven

by observing me fail spectacularly.

 

He is strong, masculine, fit, handsome, and

firmly confident, but just short of being

obscenely so; he is everything I’m not,

but wish I were. He is kind to every

 

other soul inhabiting my mind, but

exceptionally cruel to me, and only

on exceptionally cruel whims that seemed

to instinctively align with when I

 

was at my lowest, most vulnerable

moments. He openly mocks my appeals

to his reason, decency, and empathy,

targeting my darker nature, the part

 

of me I try to ignore, compartmentalize,

and starve to death. He ignites something

primal in me, strutting away from the

embers floating around the tinderbox.

 

I feel my evolved sensibilities

burn away, leaving only the cruelest

intentions hooking themselves into my limbs;

if he approaches me once more, I know

 

there won’t be anything left of me to

reason with. And this fills me with a

primal joy that frightens me. I know that

if he invades my space again, if he

 

seeks to belittle me with a face slap

or an ill-advised shove, the three-strike

combination I have chambered for him

won’t simply be warning shots to get him off me.

 

They won’t be angry, bleary, wild lashes;

they’ll be highly-focused nitro-glycerin-

fueled blockbusters designed to take his smug smile

on his arrogant head right the fuck off

 

of his fucking shoulders. I would lean in,

attempting to channel those three strikes into

punching and kicking him out of existence.

He smirked and moved in my direction, just

 

as I envisioned. As he entered range

and readied a dismissive slap for me,

I released every ounce of rage from my

left fist, followed immediately by

 

my right fist and a left front-thrust kick just

for kicks. All three blows landed with great, lush

satisfying thuds, evaporating him

from my dream, throwing me into the harsh

 

reality of morning sunlit skies,

punching, kicking tangled blankets and air.

Immediately, I felt dread, for it

wasn’t my fancy words that had prevailed,

 

but my violent nature that I had tried

to deny for so long. Disoriented

and ashamed, I tried to regulate my

breathing, eventually cracking an

 

ironic smile because right or wrong, I

finally got that bullying bastard.

***

 

 

 

 

Collecting the Toll

garak

Image source: Google

Collecting the Toll

What’s that, you say?

You’re ready to confess, are you?

 

Oh, my dear man,

you must’ve confused me

for someone else.

 

There’s no need for that stuff.

I know your vile sin all too well.

That’s why I’m here

 

smiling over your broken body, after all.

 

In fact, had you not

picked my kin to prey on,

you wouldn’t be bowed before me

praying for mercy I’m ill-fit to offer.

 

But that’s the dirty trick, isn’t it?

They’re all my kin, all worthy of

gentle respect you denied her.

 

Like you, I won’t be gentle.

 

Hell, you might’ve even gotten away

clean, virtuous and intact

had you abstained from your perverse lust

and craven need to rip through consent,

admittance neither given nor heeded,

but entry forced, vandalized,

left in pieces, droppings left by some

repugnant, lecherous litterbug.

 

And so, here we are, you and I,

together one last time

before I send you on ahead

to be judged by the Other Guy.

 

She will never be the same.

Your fate will be far worse.

 

Oh, my dear lad,

but of course I’m

going to hell too.

 

An eye for an eye,

and whatnot and so-forth.

 

But unlike you,

I have manners,

so, you first, sir.

 

And there you go again

with all that

mercy and forgiveness talk.

 

I fear that I’m fresh out of that stuff.

 

I wonder if my kin screamed out similarly

as you parted her knees

and had your way with her.

 

I imagine she lacked a vocabulary

macabre enough to adequately describe

or protest against the criminal

things you did to her,

 

but oh, how many more decibels

you’ll shatter in tenfold retribution

for her terrified shrieks

that went unanswered!

 

And suffer you will, my man!

Just as she did, just as I am suffering

at this very moment, for there is no mercy

for you, only justice, dispensed by yours truly

with a smile, and I promise you that

 

your suffering shall be put to a swift end

just as soon as my pain ends.

See how fair and just that is?

 

I should warn you though;

watching my kin weep at

what amounted to a viscous force of nature

answerable to nothing but your own ill nature

has left me in a catastrophic amount of pain.

 

This… could take a while.

** *

I know the tone is disturbing, but this poem wasn’t born in a vacuum. My friend trE wrote a harrowing poem on her blog that resonated with me and should resonate with everyone. You should check it out.

I debated sharing this one, but trE encouraged me to do just that.

via Paying The Price — a cornered gurl