His Death My Birth.

Just there to make sure, no other reason.

His eye lids flickered,
breathing now more laboured, rasping,
he was drowning.
It wouldn't be long now.

The line in his arm drip fed him pain relief,
his death, passing, would be mine.
I wasn't here to mourn, comfort,
no, I was here to make sure,
to see him leave,
catch his last breath,
a breath I would carry with me to my death,
a breath that would finally mean closure....

The drunkard, bully of my childhood
now cut the most pathetic of figures,
weak, helpless,
just as we were all of those years ago,
when his drink fuelled rages would colour our skin.
Back then no one meddled, interfered,
a bruised child was a bad child,
a child in their eyes deserving of parental straightening out,
the belt, a clip around the ear.
And so the abuse went on.
Now, all these years on here we were,
the bullied and the bully.
How I wished he would regain consciousness,
open his eyes,
to see me watching, witnessing,
him, as I was all those years ago, helpless,
me, smiling, gloating.

He let out a long, gurgling sigh,
then silence,
he was gone.
I stood, bent over him as if to kiss his brow,
whispered in his ear,
" Rot in hell you b*****d "
before leaving to finally start living.

Author's Note

Fictional. However many would be able to relate to this.

Reviews

[MLWingo]

The imagery is very strong and relatable. You did a great job putting the reader in the room, feeling the pain and hurt and anger, then relief. Curious if "straightening out" is a common phrase? Well done.

[Gee]

Thank you :)

[CBH]

I felt like I was honestly reading a short story. This poem kept me in suspense, and though I've never been in such a situation I found myself feeling compassion for the speaker, with such disdain for the dying man. Have you ever considered converting this to prose?

[Gee]

Hi, truthfully wouldn't know where to start as am as thick as a brick :)
Thank you for reading and your comments

[Chris Shaw]

Yes, there are many who would relate to this and would find it difficult to show an ounce of compassion. Unless you have been on the receiving end I guess it would be difficult to fathom that strength of feeling. Good write Gee.

Chris

[Gee]

Good morning Christine, thank you.
Hope all is well with you and the family.

[Chris Shaw]

We are all OK Gee. Trust the same for yours,? Have a good day.

[h d e rushin]

i'm scared of this poem Gee. There's something bestiary about the moralization of the symbolic animals of our youth. and yet you feel like Whitman felt of war. That it was essential to his "getting close" to youth that he could disregard the carnage, if only for a little while. It took a lot to write it, I suppose....yet nicely done.../dana

[Gee]

Thanks for both reading and commenting Dana

[Justin Horrocks]

Your writing is deep. Made me think about my mum's dad for the first time in a long time. He was the worst kind of human. I don't know if hell exists but he is rotting for sure. Thank you for your words.

[Gee]

Cheers Justin, thank you for commenting.

[Askew]

This is really powerful and wonderfully written, well done! This is the kind of writing that will resonate in everyone, even if they have never experienced something like this, it will stick with them.

[Gee]

Thank you Lexi. Never knew my own father as he upped sticks and left us as kids. Stories told about him though paint an unfavourable picture

[Hsnx]

it feels like its so true and nicely expressed .. i was bullied by my friends only.. it was by words but this is heartbreaking..

[Gee]

Thank you...

[Dara]

Well put. Although, in the end, forgiveness is the key that frees the lock of all that anger, hurt and bitterness.

[Gee]

Must be awfully hard to forgive an abuser.
Thank you for reviewing.

[Dara]

Nothing's impossible, if we are willing.
You're welcome.

[Kichu]

Vengeful but still profound. It is fiction but it is written so strong that one might think it came from your own experience. A great achievement.

[Gee]

Thank you..

[RedChickPoet]

That's damn good for being "fictional". Having finally escaped an abusive mother and making peace with an abusive father, the emotions rang true.

I've recently made peace with my father. Not sure if that will go any further than that.

With mother, no peace wanted by me. Moved to another state to finally have enough distance between us, blocked all internet and telephone contact options so I'll never be her target and dumping ground again.

With her, I've recreated reality in my mind. Keeping father thing separate, where she's concerned, I've rewritten my history in my mind.

I'm an orphan. Emotionally, I always was, so it's not too far from the truth. It's been so long since I've felt like I had a "father". Ended when I was 9. With "mother", I was never her daughter, even though that's what she called me instead of my name. Reduced to a label. A dishonest one, at that.

If your poem wasn't based in any reality, what inspired you to write it? Are you just very good at "becoming", putting yourself in the position of others' life experiences?

I'm a writer and creative person too. The "editor" in me would want to only change the format of very minor things, but the fellow writer and reader, I loved this, even though I felt a few punches to my heart and soul.

That's not a bad thing. When creative/art expression make me felt any strong reaction, even if it's my own discomfort, I call that a victory.

Thank you for sharing. I enjoyed it very much. Made me write a bit about my life. Sorry, you're to "blame", since you ripped me open in the most wonderful, beautiful, and yes, painful, way.

🌟✍🏻👏🏻

[Gee]

Thank you and sorry for digging up old hurts.
Not a clue where this came from, just wrote it, as with most of my scribblings, before going off to work.
Appreciate that you have let me into your past and " enjoyed" this post.