Long after the initial destruction, they are still wriggling through your mind like a maggot. It’s not over just because the fire’s been put out and you still have a heartbeat. You still have to grow new skin and stop thinking about fire, the arsonist that torched your child and how you gave him the match.
With every legal reminder, whether it be news of a step in the case through parole letter notifications or not seeing the pedophile listed in the sexual offenders database online and knowing that means either A) the long, long shot of him not being yet classified still since December 1, or B) he is only classified as Tier I so he won’t be publicly listed regardless of his history of multiple convictions for violence, witness tampering, the two years he spent victimizing the child and his dual black belts with one red belt.
Did you know in New Jersey it’s considered less of a sexual crime if you do it to a child you lived with or to which you are related? A “crime of convenience”.
So, if I happen to be living in an apartment, Mr. Lawmaker, with your car and I steal it, will I get a lesser charge because it was fucking CONVENIENT for me? No, because it’s yours, huh? Because you give a shit about your stuff but not about someone else’s body, not about someone else’s kid. They don’t matter, it’s not your child, it’s not your body and really, you know, if the girl or boy wasn’t just lying around like a box of Legos, she or he wouldn’t have gotten played with like one, huh? The absolute insanity of humanity makes me weep.
So I can’t stop the rage. I try to, I even get free for a time. Then something happens and this laser beam rage comes out of me with a heat from hell itself that I have never witnessed nor felt even close to in my life. It frightens me but at the same time, I’m unafraid. I think that’s called respect, a hundred years ago it may have been called “God-fearing”. I have a deep found respect for this … this absolute will to see this man and people like him eradicated from power.
They rule, they set the tone, they whine, they whimper, they simper, they growl, they parade, they threaten, they grandstand and we are all legal obsequious little sycophants.
And so I rage, usually on Twitter. It’s like screaming into a canyon. I know strangers don’t understand, they think I’m raging about some broken heart, some lost love, they don’t know or get it so they think I’m boiling bunnies in a back room somewhere but this can’t be helped. I must have some place for this ache where my heart used to live. All the while you’re still trying to climb the mountain we’re all trying to climb.
And so I rage and I soften and I smile and I’m myself and then something trips me and I cry and I rage and I soften and I smile and I’m myself and then som…