Yusuf P McCormack
Artist, Poet, Trainer and
wearer of many hats.
Poetry and Verse
Sealed by A Moloch's Kiss
Moloch: A biblical name of a Canaanite god associated with child sacrifice.
I recall the number of occasions that I was subjected to emotional & physical violence from the very people who were supposed to be looking after me.
The rest of the world saw that these women & men had given up their lives for the benefit of others and therefore would compassionately love and nurture those less fortunate.
Being spat on made me feel so dirty and unwanted, the lowest of the low and so helpless because I couldn't do anything about it.
The hurt I felt from being spat on was more painful than the blows because it felt like their hatred had crept inside me, and for a while I believed this to be normal, actually deserving this kind of treatment.
Physical pain doesn't last, it's momentary and passes, the words sealed by 'spit' traveled deep within, impacting on mental well-being & how I saw myself.
I wrote this with the intention that I wanted the listener to conjure up a small child in their minds eye, being dragged by their hair, thrashed, beaten, feeling frightened, scared, shaking, confused, and somehow trying to make sense of words screamed at him and then the pain of being spat on!
....The fact is, I can still feel these kisses I received from a Moloch
A Moloch's kiss
She spat on me.....at me, all the while screaming
“You're nothing more than a dirty animal”
“You deserve nothing less”.......
Her words of comfort, offered to me,
between her punches, between her kicks,
between her spat out words,
her curses resounding in my head.
“No wonder you wasn't wanted”
she told me.... hysterically laughing now,
whilst she dragged me by my hair
to the workroom, where clothes are repaired
but never children!!
“No one could love you”
“No one would want the likes of you”
“You disgust me”
The rhythm of the cane echoes her words
as it beats out her songs,
it's notes, mark my little body!
Her words sealed by her spit,her phlegm...her kiss,
as it strikes me with the accuracy of intent
each word now anchors itself
as they attached and seep into my being,
burning inside me.....
infiltrating my mind,
creating my cloak of shame
She never told me I could be loved,
she never said I was loved...She never said!
...Instead, always reminding me,
why no one would,
why no one could love someone like me...
and I don't get why, what have I done?
…Except, she taught me that I must be bad
and I must be deserving of my lot,
but everyone's got to be loved sometimes, don't they?
My crime, she said, was my birth
My crime she screamed was being the product of sin!
My reward, she said, was being left here
a reminder for others to view, to laugh at, to pity,
to donate for a worthwhile cause..just not for me!!.
A test for her patience, that's what I am.
A test to show her a route into heaven....My purpose in life!
Determined by circumstances and not choice.
Never a hug, or embrace of affection
never a kind word or acknowledged praise
or anything to make me feel good about myself,
only her spit, her phlegm,her kiss, her legacy,
and my hurt...it makes me very sore inside.
My reminder that I existed.
Her marks don't show, no one can see them
but I still scrub at them because I still feel them burn
I still feel their intent
I can still feel her kiss!