My fingers are entangled in the satinette fabric of the drapes.
There is a shadow stirring in the light being cast from the porch.
I stand silently in the window, awaiting its maker. It is you, Father
Who trespasses in the night. You who blends so well with sable.
Father, you have turned me into a weak and shaky girl. But now it is
Your turn to be helpless and feeble. Father, I can see your every move.
I can sense the horripilation and sudor on the back of your neck.
You do not know that I am here. Father, I am watching you. The
Scelestic man with whom I share the same blood. Father, you left me.
Father, you have severed this paternal vein, these drapes are now
Drenched and splattered crimson. Father, I am watching myself
bleedAll over this town. Father, please. Father, you are a salacious shadow,
Soaked in sin, slick with spite and bile. One day satan will swallow you,
And as you slide down his slimy throat, try not to choke on his spit.
Father, I often think of your hands, and what they have done.
There was a time where I would confuse my hands with yours.
I feel guilty for what your hands have done. When I think of
The girls you have touched, I wonder who they blame? Sometimes, I
Question if my hands never existed in the first place, Would you still
Have touched them? I was the one you itched for, but I was kept out
ofYour reach, unattainable. But now, Three girls have suffered; because of me.
Three girls, Father and I don’t even know their names. I wonder if you do?
You have my initials tattooed, all over your body. You have made me apart of you.
Father, you have molested my name, That’s why I write under a pseudonym,
To become someone you do not know, Father, you do not know my name,
You have not seen My face in years. You have not touched me since you
Held me as a babe swaddled in cloth. But I have been touched by other
Shadows, sadistic in their ways. Sometimes Father, I confuse their faces with yours.
Father, I imagine you sitting alone, surrounded by stone,
Writing letters to which you will never get a response.
Father, why would I reply to a shadow, a shadow has no eyes.
It cannot read. Father, your wickedness is rooted in me deep.
Father, I tried to carve it out, but the dagger couldn’t reach.
I am eternally half shadow; half you. Father, I want to split myself
In two. Father, I cannot persist like this, playing this futile game.
As I read and re-read your letters, with my one eye. Your hands
Rise from the pages and wrap themselves around my throat, and
I choke on the words of these sonnets. I will never write to you,
Father, but I will write of you. Words you will never learn.
Father, I now realize why shadows write; they cannot speak.
Father, shadows have no mouths, they are absent of sound.
Father, is that why I have never heard your voice?