Sometimes you can’t sleep,
So you think of home.
Not the place you hang your heart,
But the place that haunts you.
Those memories you wish to forget
But remain never far instead.
This is where I find myself tonight.
I see images of a brutal man playing at father
While a whore house for Jesus
Exerts ill measured influence
Over a family
In desperate need
Of professional medical intervention.
But in place of intervention
They received old wives’ tales,
There were monsters behind those doors.
There to torment and tear the family apart.
I tried to send smoke signals and coded messages
Asking for help,
But I must have forgotten to include a decoder ring
Because instead of help
I found the worst kinds of admonishing.
And after all these years,
I still feel guilty for my inability
To keep my siblings shielded from the abuse.
To my father who still lives,
And his filthy devil of a pastor,
It is you who keep me awake tonight.