Nurtured by poison

There was a cruel little boy

In one of Anton Chekhov's stories:

He fed his dog a piece of meat

With a string tied to it;

The other end of string

Remained in his hand.

Then, shortly afterwards,

He pulled the meat back out...

The animal was terrified,

The reader (me) -- disgusted.

I know what it's like to be that dog.

Not literally, thankfully,

But figuratively. It still hurts.

Those whom I trusted most were the ones

Doing it to me. No wonder

I have trust issues.

First was my mother. Everything she gave

Had strings attached to it.

No single gift was unconditional,

No single act of care.

Her daughter doesn't deserve a shit,

And she must understand her Mommy,

Be there on call, and be her punching bag.

Of course I understood

Precisely what it feels like

To be an orphan.

It sure was a blessing

To let her go and escape

Before the walls crushed down on me.

To go overseas,

Work hard, play hard,

Whatever it may take to numb the pain

Of being fed that big fat lie:

That Mommy cares for me.

Still feel nauseated.

The second monster was the one

I shudder to remember —

The man who said he loved me,

Whose vows weren’t worth a dime.

Who poisoned me with psychopathic lies,

Unmanly drama, cowardice,

But sounded so caring

When he met me.

What's absolutely worst --

I despised myself

For being so naive

And thought about suicide.

I thought it's all my fault.

Such people are Death Angel mushrooms —

Those imitating  good ones,

They taste all right at first, to lull your caution,

And then — too late: a mushroom poisoning is something

I wouldn't wish upon an enemy...

Except for them.

Why don't you try your own medicine, creep doctors?

I must be lucky. I threw up

All that sophisticated bullshit…

But what an ugly mess, a Ground Zero

With ruins of my life.

Those were experiences

That I couldn't stomach,

And I doubt if anybody else

Would do much better

If they happened to be me.

It seems like something I must be ashamed of.

But why?

The shame belongs with them —

Abusers, liars, life-destroyers,

Incapable of any better.

I’ll never, ever trust again

A spoken word, not written down

And notarized, what not.

Whatever works to guarantee

Protection of my dignity, my time, my heart...

My everything.

You never know if and when

You'll end up in your victim's shoes.

I think you're afraid of that.

For me, it's done and over with —

But for you, jerks, the suspense builds up tension.

Relax, nobody gives a shit.

And still you wait and fear

That what you did to me I'll do to you...

But I don't have to.

I just step back and let you choke

On that same piece of meat.

May 23, 2018.