Ode to Irene:

Inner child (irascible Irene)

Sitting across from him

family gatherings are like a

charade

Suppressing all the hurt

exposure of expansive

wounds

He inflicted

On the years of my youth

My stomach tenses

at his touch

My skin crawling

like thousands of fire ants

My whole body

flooded like a eruption

(so few bonds left )

How can I cut ties with all

these experiences?

King of no castle!

(I don’t have to hug him)

If I don’t want to!

I want his love

(Not objectification)

I need his support

(Not vile violent flashbacks)

Haunted by inherent uneasiness

I, impassioned as a barricade

Those with pure intentions

are few and far

An emotional scar

deserving of trust

Naw

I don’t grant you accesses

Inner child (impolite Irene)

Relations are not bonds of fondness

Fondling isn’t bonding

Keep your hands

where I can see them!

Don’t drop a napkin,

to hide your erection

I will excuse myself

from this table,

spinning out of control

like a lazy Susan