A Letter to Love

Hysteria entry for a contest. This is a ladies reaction to learning about hysteria, and also being hysterical.

If you never wanted to watch
my house burn down,
that is, if you're alone enough
to get lost out there,
take a seat and wait for me.

As people walk by,
tell them a lie.
Wait for smoke to settle.
Leave with the sunrise.
Don't watch, don't meddle.

Rednezvous with my Gyno,
don't sift through ashes,
and ask what happened.
You won't be told what I know-
of mental/emotional lashes.

A brief history lesson afterwords.
We'll compare his words
with the doctors-
those bastards-
and my own testimony.

My grandmother was disheveled,
unlike the others-
and cried into the night.
Until her father came home,
a doctor, an angel- that's right.

With poison on his tongue,
he ravaged a practice-
giving reason and excuse.
Without any doubt,
we women felt used and abused.

You may not see bruises,
but I see them all.
Scratches, and snot,
and vomitting in a pot-
I am afflicted with it all.

These times feel like bombs-
an explosion sending me gaping wide
into the ocean.
But I have an idea, and a thought-
a sickly tear jerking notion.

If I burn down my home,
his spirit will go with it.
But as hard as I try,
memories won't fade-
as I burn, as I die.

The End

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