Like it always starts,

When we are young,

fruitful,

and questioning God.

Where does your mother’s hands go,

when it’s play time.

The same place your father’s tongue go,

when you open wide.

My legs become my sister’s legs,

and my wandering eyes,

became seduction between my thighs.

So we can talk about the ants and uncles,

who couldn’t resist temptation in a daughter’s eyes,

And now my nieces and nephews are staring back at me ready to lie.

Now every time I sit,

I sit with legs spread apart,

It’s like my body doesn’t forget what I did in the dark,

And while my parents were splitting apart.

Is that why I love with half a heart?

Can someone tell me?

Because it didn’t even hurt,

When I woke up to part.

You could look at a mother in disgust,

but,

she only did what was done to her,

and what was done to her great grandmother.

It feels too good to follow tradition huh?

And the urge doesn’t stop with just wanting.

And a silent breath taken doesn’t stop at moaning.

It feels too good to follow tradition huh?

Is that our curse?

When a crying mind continues to lead astray,

Do we blame God for our continued mistake?

One day someone’s britches just won’t tighten in time,

and one day that little boy will yell as loud as he can,

chains will fall,

and the victim will stand.

But that victim might just be a little too old to understand.

Now I’m feeding her apple sauce, cold oatmeal, while she refuses the grape juice.

As I take each spoon full away,

I can’t even tell her the things that I remember.

She likes her bingo card and nothing more.

Well, I hope it’s not dementia,

because I’ve got a lot to say.