A Poem: mea culpā, mea culpā, mea máxima culpā

You pretended that you never knew what I

Was talking about.

We were never able to make it onto the same page

And yet we reached it, every single day,

But you sent the past, that you steered me into,

Straight through the chimney, reformed the ashes,

And tried to send clouds into my brain, too,

But I always remembered you, the heavyweight traces you left behind.


What made you think that I would

Forget the nights where I screamed into my pillow,

Cried into my pillow, wishing you’d finally stop, get it

Together, shut up, stop the screaming, all those hours

At night, straight into my body, all the fears you instilled,

What makes you think that I could dissociate all of that

From you?


This was you in my gut, this was you in my mind,

This was you in my face, my tears, my throat.

What is it now? You exploded like clockwork.

Stop screaming. Stop screaming. What is the matter

With you? Who could listen to this? For hours?

Every single day, the same thing, the same lazy complaints.


How is it possible that you’re still so unwilling

And presumably unable to recall what I recall,

To admit it all, to for once claim responsibility,

Shed a light on the demons that you expressed

And released mercilessly, in a daily routine, straight

Into the abyss, that I grew up in, that I scratched my

Way out of.


How can you still pretend and envelop

Yourself in sweet tones and colours, shoving misogyny

In my face, the ancestors’ fault, never yours, you could

Never grow a backbone and admit the world we both

Lived in, that you built, that you massacred, the adolescence

That you butchered, how can you not smell the blood on your hands

That you always scrubbed and scrubbed off and turned a blind eye towards?

young woman standing near fire and sea
Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com

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