Creative Corner: Poetry by Ritual Abuse Survivors	Ritual Abuse, Ritual Crime and Healing

 

This thoughtful fantasy provided by your ever tender and sweet momma's boy, Sid. Sid was born in a bedroom in a quiet neighborhood in a head filled with howling kids. His hobbies include outdrinking people three times his size, helping wee girls choose fashion accessories for Barbie and get them damn outfits on before girl gets frustrated, and watching kickboxing or movies featuring big guns. His aspirations include getting shitfaced at tonight's social, buying a new punk cd now and again, and to be socially irrelevant until society can wake up and smell the coffee.

 

Sid's Christmas Fantasy

 

In my head I hear these kids who cry
Every fuckin day they ask if we gonna die.
Don't know what their thing is and don't even try,
But smokin in my brain I just be the tough guy.

Neighbors and the jerks act like they can't hear,
While drunken bitch slobbers up in my ear,
I'm passing out, dizzy hate and hell and fear,
Just when bitch mumbles drunk, "I hate you my dear."

Outside in the streets I'm running like a cat.
Cold as hell cause I split without a hat.
They think that I'm only some rebel brat.
I say, "She tried to kill me, WHAT YOU THINK OF THAT?"

So I can be the brother who just simmers the crew,
The world can fuck me blind but they don't have a clue.
I think all the time about what I've been through,
And dream of a pay back day to even up her dues.

One fine day, after eating Christmas duck,
Momma says to me, "Hey boy, let's fuck,"
I grab the carving knife and yell, "BITCH, YOU SUCK!
THIS TIME TODAY, YOU'RE SHIT OUTTA LUCK!"

 

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