All these years
I have tried to compose something distinct and
meaningful

give explanation serving to clarify

if only in my own mind

if only for myself

through the tangled web of memory

what happened
that could have been so devastating.

If only I had discovered sooner
I was working to unravel
the wrong mysteries.

It was not the hands of other
entering forbidden places
the fingers of other
creating a sickly symphony
the sounds of which
I could not bear.

It was not the false image
that this was somehow my doing
that I was sharing in or taking part.

It was not the false knowledge
that I had made invitations
the undying fears
that the travesties would be repeated
already the derogation
reverberating like echoes

nor the foreboding
the prophecy
that I
one day
would abandon
the unrelenting
tiresome undertaking
to keep johnfrancis at bay

or surrender
to sowing the conceptions
spread open to the wind
and planted in my soul.

It was not even the terror
with which I crept forward
daily
venturing
to simply discover for myself
my life
unagrieved, unafflicted, unharmed.

It wasn’t the swiftness
with which my lessons were learned
often seemingly
systematic

or my endeavors
surfeited with sorrow

to satisfy
the sickness
cultivated, actualized and growing within me.

It was not the confusion
that resulted from being a child
educated with ideas
a child
has no words to counter
has not way to assimilate
into the worlds of children.

It was not the dissonance.

It was merely
profoundly
much simpler than any of this,
the sad reality
of my utter aloneness.

No one

To save me.