I can still hear her Irish ire say, “I’m so mad I could spit.”
I’m so spitting mad I had to sign off Twitter before I broke something.
Irish I am not, ire I have got.
It’s a mongrel madness; a ruined roar that rips out of the breast of the broken; the beaten; the steaming, smouldering outrage of the oppressed; the rage that courses though the veins of the victimized; the anger the boils in the arterial blood of the abused.
The hidden narratives I could never quite convey, I say, in part, today.
I scribbled in black, angry ink as more and more outrage ripped through the page.
Black and Angry.
Perhaps it depends on the pallor of your page.
It’s also true.
I have much mounted against you.
I, who who have little legs left to stand on.
You amputated them with your abuse.
You fractured my fragile frame with your falsehood.
You broke my bruised bones with your unbearable burden.
I was the Seeker.
I was the Orphaned.
I was the Fatherless.
I was the Poor.
I was the Meek.
I was the Persecuted.
I was Hunger.
I was Thirst.
God, help me, I Mourned.
I am appalled at what I found in you. I am even more outraged at who found me.
You were keen to rule me but never once helped me to rule myself.
You were content to be the rudder to my broken boat, but never instructed me on the proper use of a compass, or provided the most rudimentary of maps.
I moved only as your wind saw fit.
I arrived in chains.
In your Christendom wisdom, you slipped a noose around my emaciated neck.
You taught me the tap dance of the traumatized to hymns of hope.
I performed prescribed jigs of feigned joy to your endless alleluia’s.
I brought my naivety,
my childlike faith,
and my trust to thee.
You broke all three.
You said to trust and obey.
I knew nothing but obedience.
My capacity for conformity was never questioned.
It was capitalized.
I came to you, Orphaned.
Orphaned, I remain.
You were meant to rend your garments for me.
Instead, you took mine.
I was cursed.
You were meant to bless.
Your “blessings” concealed curses.
Cursed are those who mourn — for they will mourn all the more from their minimal meat and marrow.
Cursed are those who hunger — for they surely shall be eaten.
Cursed are those who thirst — for they shall be drunk the last delicious drop.
Cursed are the meek and merciful — for they will be manipulated.
Cursed are the poor, the pure, the plundered — for they will be pillaged and preyed upon.
Blessed are those who insult me,
those who persecuted me and
falsely say all kinds of evil against me
when I tell the truth of your abuse.
This is the only promise I am certain you can keep.
Great is your reward.
For in the same way that you have done all of these things to me in the past,
you will do it again to others in the future.
Glory be to Gawd you father.
I have this against you:
You seek Injustice.
You love Deceit.
You walk Arrogantly with your Gawd.