I have to find a way to get him out of my head!
I still hear him,
smell him.
I still see his face
and how his wrinkled skin sagged down over his eyes.
He was so old and disgusting.
His raspy voice still grates the membrane in my ears.
He was mean and made me do things
I did not want to do.
But he was Fr.
I had to obey.
His frequent exclamation,
“I’m having my second childhood!”
I did not understand.
Whenever he said that,
he always laughed wildly.
Like he was deranged.
But he laughed.
So, I guess it was OK.
Now I look back.
I did not matter.
There would always be others.
??????? before '59
who '65-'66
then ??????? up to '74
He held several personalities captive
in the dark space that had replaced his soul.
He knew how to skillfully employ whichever one
would get him what he wanted
when he wanted it.
He’d stare into space.
Draw on his pipe.
Emit an “Um-hmm”.
What was he thinking?
What did he want?
Sometimes I tried to hide
but he'd get mad and carry me back.
I was doomed.
Doomed.
Always doomed.
He was not him.
I was not me.
The dungeon awaited.
That dark, damp, smelly dungeon.
One of many places where things happened
that I did not understand.
My breathing was stifled
by the weight of his body
I was trapped.
I could not move.
no chance to escape.
He rocked.
Then he slept.
What a good girl was I!
As I grew older,
he would "help me with my coat",
Wrap his arms around me from behind.
And whisper into my ear
while walking me into...........
I still can't say.
He wasn’t a man.
A priest.
A pastor.
A person.
Just a deranged shell of evil masquerading as such.
But to most, he was a holy, pious man of God.
A kind, generous, “man’s man”.
How could he fool them?
How could they not know
the evil that manipulated them?
Fulfilling their expectations
All the while, he was their master.
Just as he was mine.