Entangled

Tore my way out

Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!

I’m so happy you’re here.

Each of these Sunday poetry collections centers loosely around a tarot card, and this week we’re checking in with the Lovers, also known as Marriage or the Two Roads.

This card reminds us that as adults, we can choose our relationships.

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CONTENTS:

1. Gods, Not Pawns

2. Why Don’t Millennials Speak to Their Parents?

GODS, NOT PAWNS

I used to live inside a house where I was always wrong. 
No matter how hard I worked to be right, I was still wrong. 

I was hungry at the incorrect time. That was a sin. 
“Snacks are for other, fatter folks, dear.” Had to wait so long. 

“Show off that little figure! How dare you be beautiful?
You’re not supposed to outshine me, girl, quiet down your song.”

“That’s just the way it is,” she said, in face of injustice.
Where was the motherly instinct to protect little fawns?

“Don’t listen to your father, your place is with me at home.
There are always more things to clean: no, we don’t sit for long.”

I did not understand the true shape of my own body
Until I tore the cord she could not bear to cut. I’m strong. 

“Do not even dare to dream at night, naughty little girl.
One day you’ll be punished with a child like you.” She was wrong. 

The first time I went over to a friend’s house for the night,
I came to understand that some children are gods, not pawns. 

Each day is a new day, yet, I know patterns do exist.
Lizzy had to break the cycle just so she could go on. 

WHY DON’T MILLENNIALS SPEAK TO THEIR PARENTS?

My 1980’s tits are heading south for the winter:
They’re ready to kick back,
Sip a liquor-free spicy margarita.
These nipples? You’re never gonna see ‘em,
They’ve been headed sideways so long,
They’re looking backwards like goddamn Epimetheus,
Shit. 

My rig was built for revolution.
Thought I was retired,
But it’s time to get to work again,
Show the people what I’m worth, and then
Let the children know that we failed and I’m sorry we’re the worst,
But together we can pool our knowledge and find solutions.
We can stop all this hurt.
Unfortunately,
It’s time for us to learn who we are under a dictator. 
Hi, my name is Troublemaker. 
I’m like goddamn Epimetheus.

Let me show you the flow of time on this screen.
Show you how much I had to bleed just to make it to 2025,
How much effort it takes me to look you in the eye.
I wasn’t raised right.
My parents never should have had kids.
I sleep poorly at night.
My mother never apologized for the hits,
Never acknowledged that sometimes she could be cruel,
Never let me make mistakes without making it clear that the stakes were too high for failure, so best not to try.
What did she care?
What was the use?
Why all the perfectionism?
I’m like goddamn Epimetheus.

I look like Mom now.
I’m older than she was when I escaped her body, tore my way out,
And now I speak with a motherly mouth: shame on her for the pain she wrought.
I cannot abide a grown adult who hits when they don’t get their way.
To them I say:

Get some hindsight like goddamn Epimetheus. 
Pull your shit together.
If the cash is there, then you have no excuse not to get therapy.
It is not your kid’s job to help you be calm.
If you hate what your baby-mirror displays,
Breaking the glass is not how you find rest. 
If your kid cannot be honest with you without peril,
Then what kind of relationship do you expect?
If the pathway to love and acceptance is too narrow,
Your kid’s gonna dip, goddamn it.

And people ask why millennials don’t speak to their parents.