This is timely; I've been chewing over some similar-feeling incidents from my childhood. (We Don't Express Anger was a lesson I absorbed young enough that I can't remember learning it.) No particular words, at least none for public consumption, but... thank you. It helps to see how someone else has struggled with this too.
I asked because he writes a great deal about his own experience of childhood abuse. To me, one of the most powerful lines in is poetry is, "Born into this" It is just so succinct and deep.
Thank you for your words, what you write resonates with my childhood. I experienced one time where I thought my father was going to kill me. I was cleaning the bathroom. I didn't clean it the way he wanted. He grabbed me by the wrists, shook me with such intense rage. My only thought was, my father is going to kill me. I never had this thought before because I was always careful, careful. When I showed my mom the bruises on my wrists she took me and left him. I'm still careful. I've never written in public about my childhood but now I'm ready to burn up those experiences into ashes, watch them float away.
All this makes me wonder if you've ever read Charles Bukowski and what you might think of him.
Pretty sure I read one or more poems by him in either high school or college, but the details didn't stick. Don't think I've read any prose. Why?
This is timely; I've been chewing over some similar-feeling incidents from my childhood. (We Don't Express Anger was a lesson I absorbed young enough that I can't remember learning it.) No particular words, at least none for public consumption, but... thank you. It helps to see how someone else has struggled with this too.
I asked because he writes a great deal about his own experience of childhood abuse. To me, one of the most powerful lines in is poetry is, "Born into this" It is just so succinct and deep.
Think I remember Misha. I didn't know how important he was!
Thank you for your words, what you write resonates with my childhood. I experienced one time where I thought my father was going to kill me. I was cleaning the bathroom. I didn't clean it the way he wanted. He grabbed me by the wrists, shook me with such intense rage. My only thought was, my father is going to kill me. I never had this thought before because I was always careful, careful. When I showed my mom the bruises on my wrists she took me and left him. I'm still careful. I've never written in public about my childhood but now I'm ready to burn up those experiences into ashes, watch them float away.