Licking off Personal History

If I were on display and the world were really a mirror spying
on the other side would my reflection be sincere?
I’ve heard that photographs are our worse critics, so far they haven’t been kind whipping me the way my parents used to
they did it so I wouldn’t smash myself on the pavement below
crossing this thin tightrope they called “existence”
the slaps below my eyes were given to balance me
and now I am able to tame myself as an animal licking off personal
history, unable to lick the flaws off my skin
once the flesh has been pried open it holds terrible grudges
and can never study to be in the clergy, scars remind me daily that the razors were really crazy friends
who once passed the time walking on arms and legs
and the destructive paths they left

I remember how dad used to pass the days loving mom as a stiff shot of vodka and the dark circles beneath her eyes wasn’t insomnia but the slices of evidence to a crime I couldn’t prevent,
it was the bruises underneath her clothes I never saw but knew existed
it was the casualty she let herself become that I resented
the intimacy between them escalated to full scale war, none of us could win

I convinced myself every man was a soldier, hidden underneath their grins and seductions were weapons of mass destruction,
I believed once I understood the diplomacy and strategems of war it would make men more transparent, so I studied their tactics, finding points of weakness in the fortresses of their minds, to disable them before they disabled me

Before long I was a firecracker, combative and gritty, and blowing myself up in their faces, and opening our wounds was how I loved, camoflauging my intimacy with the incisions of sex, disguised the real intent of the commitments I said I wanted but didn’t, I lied to myself reciting ranks and serial numbers with the odd things lovers say to one another, " I love you", and “I hate you”, simultaneously," please don’t leave, even though I hate you, but I tell myself I love you’, with the wounds on my face still bleeding

I sit inside this gorge I cannot climb out of, crushing my temples between my hands wishing I were clay in God’s palms, and wanting to be in His grip, even though hourly I try to slip out of it, as a newborn from its mother’s bloody birth canal, we slip into so many situations, and so many relationships without really meaning to, the accidental marriages some make, and the most intentional divorces that have followed the birth of children, so much fluid of sperm and placenta and black eyes and saliva from kisses, and the tears from marital indiscretions, we have sucked on the lemons of bad chemistry

How often we have pretended to care, when we really didn’t,
the mirrors that have spied tell the truths we cannot tell, there is still resentment living on the paint of these rooms, and the old house never went away, but has become every place we ever lived in, and the bickering never goes away, and the splinters only moved deeper under the skin, and the splinters know you better than you know yourself, and the pus around it, like yellow pudding knows it too, you float in the pus like swimming in a contaminated river, and the junk inside you is in there too, swimming in you too, and I’m sick of looking at it all the time, and I’d rather swim in your crap than mine, and so I’ve found men who should have been condemned but weren’t , and you seem to find yourself all over again in other people, and they piss you off eventually, and they never love you, and I go back to myself to get away from the men that never wanted to see me

And years later, I never imagined I would be here loving you, and you would be there not loving me still, and that’s how I live, and that’s how flawed people live, loving on the inside, and never being loved back

It has made me a vicious little beast running circles inside these cramped little walls, and my cramped little room is closing in on me and my cramped little head is too cramped to live in anymore, and the past doesn’t fit inside anymore, and God knows I’ve tried to sweep you out, and the spider webs of unrequited love, and the black widow that eventually bites your heart,

I smeared myself over so many male egos like smearing jelly over bread, giving men everything in me, only to be the neglected little cherry on top of the Sundae nobody ever eats, I was not the main course of their lives, I was not the reason any man was happy but the excuse,
men always stopped caring when they pulled their swords from my flesh, and wiping the blood off their weapons is a good indication of that leaving me a casualty to piece myself together, and I put rusty faith back on as armor, prayer hurt more than the rips in the armor already sticking me

I am a woman with a child, a child with a child, and for years I tried to please my mother, still taking orders from her as an employee, she taught me silent rage, secret rage, and I learned darker ways to be disobedient without being noticed, living as a twin was my revolution from her, and letting the dark twin carry out the executions, putting my head on the chopping block more than once, she was the one who ran on and off of railroad tracks childishly with a grin, flirting with scorpions was the job to strike back at my mother I know, to sting her with the same severity she stings me with

The flaws of my broken flesh continue screaming for real contact, a silent and agonizing lament the razors have taught it, I stoned myself so many times, I sewed my mouth shut even more times than that, I loved so many professors no one ever knew the syringes they used to dope women like me with, they’d like to believe they were better than common pushers, when they pushed their bodies into bodies like mine, who were addicts to their own traumas, and how many of us were used as hookers then tossed away, and how many of us did they fuck in their offices anyway? How flattered I was when you noticed me, and the attention was heroin shot into my heart, and I flat lined so many times, overdosing on what I assumed to be love, you pretended, no one ever knew how many therapists and professors I let go inside me because I wanted to be loved, and the mirror spied secretly laughing, and all the flaws I couldn’t lick off or tame anymore laughed too,

I knew priviledged men carrying their brief cases would infect the world like mosquitos because they were trusted, and spread their malaria, the men I knew played their quiet little power trips, with only a subtle smile of insincerity, they wore their ties, the blemishes lived under their causcasian skins

I lived quarantined, wearing a habit to hide petty passions, peering through the cracks of this scarred body, I look back at all the damaged flesh, in a trail of human wreckage, all the bloody tears that led to my door are not just mine, but the histories of convoluted messes I had called love,and it is impossible to lick off personal history knowing there is real humiliation inside a heart no one but God can decipher

©mattybduran2009

Licking off Personal History by 


This is part of a much larger work. It was written in the summer of 1999. It is about the tumultuous lessons I learned about love at the hands of incompatible parents. I used to blame myself for the bad relationships, and now I would rather love myself in spite of them. I FIND MY WORTH IN JESUS CHRIST AND NOT IN MEN!

I am a servant of The Lord Jesus Christ. He is my Saviour and Lord. I am also a Christian mother who loves The Lord Jesus Christ. My writings are for His Glory. i belong to Him, and it is for Him, that i live. I honor the life God has created.

Exalt The Lord our God,
And worship at His footstool-
He is Holy!
(Psalm 99:5)
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Comments

  • RaOrEmraeh
    RaOrEmraehover 5 years ago

    Just wanted to let you know that my favorite part of the sundae is the little cherry.

    This writing blows me out of the f*cking water. Maybe you realize, maybe you don’t, but you are a force with which to be reckoned!

  • Thank-you for taking the time to comment on such a long piece of writing. I really appreciate your thoughtful comments Cassidy. As for your your last comment I don’t know. I just try to write honestly and openly, if people like my writing it is that much more a blessing, if not I have a real passion to write what I feel.

    – Matty B. Duran

  • rubyjo
    rubyjoalmost 5 years ago


    strong writing

  • Thank-you rubyo for this feature. Thank-you so much for acknowledging this piece. It was a personal journey for me. God Bless You! matty

    – Matty B. Duran

  • RaOrEmraeh
    RaOrEmraehalmost 5 years ago

    Maddy, I am reading again and replying again. Now that I know you better, this holds so much more and I see you clearer in this writing and in life. You have no idea how much I respect you. Love. Strength. Courage. xoxo

  • Oh sweetie thank-you. You are one of the writers on the bubble who really encourages me. I have tremendous respect for you too, Cassidy. Christ Keep You, my friend. matty

    – Matty B. Duran

  • Sonya Smith
    Sonya Smithalmost 5 years ago

    This is such a powerful writting…. The damage that is done inadvertedly… You are brave, tremendously strong… Sonya

  • Thank-you Sonya for your comments. Since this is an older poem I really don’t look here. Sorry I waited so long to get back and say thank-you. God Bless You!…….matty

    – Matty B. Duran

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