Scorn, Mea Culpa

FOWC with Fandango — Scorn

I wore your scorn a lifetime

It was blood in my veins

Dripping on floors where you

Danced to different piper’s tune…

No room for, acceptance of, me.

I didn’t complain, wheedle, beg

But my grief, shame seeped out…

Mere trickle unobserved till it

Became whirlpool which

Threatened to pull, swallow

Entire household.

As I lay mute, unseeing—

Breaths pumped into my

Lungs by machine—

Only then did you notice

We were whole group sick

Unto death…scarred, disabled…

Some dressed in couture denial.

Even so, you hid—my despondency

Your shield—and by unholy smoke

Ordained me family scapegoat.

Spineless, I accepted role

It’s what I knew…familiar slime

Covered skin, soul. 

I wore your scorn…lived

More than half my life as

Mea Culpa for you all.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.


Scapegoat’s Notes

Would that you might have

Deleted the day I was born

Before my eyes could focus

And see the truth in yours…

That you never loved me.

In every “love ya” printed on

A birthday note, I heard a liar

Making poor pretense of being Mom…

You were maternally corrupt

Smug in your superiority as the adult.

You called me stupid, naive, as though

Your bitter cynicism, disillusionment

Regret for irrevocable choices made

Were medals to be coveted…I think

You envied my chances not yet taken.

You mocked everything about me…

In particular, my hope that there

Was more ahead of me in life

Than the role of your scapegoat.

You despised me with a fire beyond

Passion’s cool describing and belief

By others…consummate actress

Outside our home, none of your peers

Would catch you in act of cruelty…nor

Dad, who kept you on delusive pedestal.

But there was a Witness…the One who matters.

I didn’t need to send God a memo

Sixty-some years later He’s still

Picking up the pieces of young soul

You shattered over and over…and

Pasting me together again and again.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.