2015 has not been the better of years. There has been a lot of pain and suffering, loss, misunderstanding, alienation and degradation. I grieve for losses and hurts others don’t want to know or understand. My husband has grieved for losses and hurts that others only felt pricked their own hearts, when in fact his pain is just as real.
There were some highlights, though. I finished the first draft of my first novel in January. John’s youngest grandson was born in April. My son married his love in August.
Still, for a woman who found her voice so late in the game, life has basically been a bitch.
Here is my end-of-the-year word on that matter.
When they look upon you their eyes
are closed, but for your flaws;
their hearts remain sealed to sooth sayers
to beauty, unmoved by pain and darkness,
or other human suffering and dreams.
Their ears are closed to the song of your
soul, to anything outside their complacence
casting light upon their comfortable shadows
while they seek silence, to strangle your star,
for its radiance reveals.
As with their own reflection they scratch and snarl,
raking your eyes and mouth, searing
your skin, bubbling and burning at the touch;
their minds leap to conclusions and cruel
disdain, against what you represent—
against what you tell the world—
against their nonexistent desire to understand,
for knowledge is power.
Your words strike like a hammer on the anvil,
pounding at their petrified ignorance, pricking
their pretention, threatening to wither
a wall of steel wrapped
so carefully around their compassion;
They name you an ingrate and impostor,
your words cut into their hardened
hearts, revealing the black and white
stone detached and dead, fetid with fear,
for they are immovable.
So they name you Troublemaker;
they bare their fangs like wanton warriors
wounded animals, they feed like starving
beasts tearing your flesh while they wipe out
your words, maligning as they proclaim their prowess;
subjugation and scorn slip from their mouths, twisted tales
of your transgressions, staining the pages
purifying their motives
against your voice an open vein
for you are a forbearing fool.
Kim Bailey Deal
December 30, 2015