Butterfly Collage

Thomas Ian Nadeau
Author of My Embodiment as a Broken Record

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"The Past"

Short Poem

by Thomas-Ian Nadeau

I thought of darkness. Nothing else.

Sleepless night and darkened woods.

My father beat me.

I don't know why, like an evening butterfly.


You don't believe me.

You don't listen to me.

You think I'm crazy for trying like an evening butterfly.


My mother readmitted me to the womb after my father beat me.

She thought this baby which was in her arms would become the man that destroyed everything we had.

Sorry that she had.

It's past. And not my past.