Overbearing Awareness


Jeffrey L. Grabov

a name I’d never forget.

He made one of the strongest impacts

on my memory out of anyone,

even though I thought he didn’t exist.

He invoked my ire from within,

and as a nonsensical child

I was consumed with the fact that my ex-girlfriend

had another dirty old man after her.

It wasn’t enough that my final farewell forced upon me

the kind of duress that I would wish I’d never experience anything

like at any other moment in my life,

at seeing another innocent little girl being tortured.

I’ve never witnessed the thing with my eyes and their frail bodies

in the same room but I sure as hell have seen the scars.

Too many to bear for one young girl. I had witnessed the crimes of the elderly.

I’ve tried to escape this history of suffering,

but it is not mine to abandon when self-worth is irrelevant.

Power and control have been immortal, they’ve been used to prevent chaos

by ignorant humans, when in reality the two ideas have been the arbiters of disorder.

There have been so many seemingly transparent glass walls

that could never be passed through, although they’ve been painted over only in a half-hazard manner.

Jeffrey Grabov knew everyone,

the old way, he listed all the ways he would fuck me,

and I believed the fuck out of him. My friends and I drunkenly thought of ourselves as heroes,

we would catch a predator

yet that wasn’t the case.

 

They looked like 8 year old girls

a blonde and a brunette

in the back of a fucking limo, just goes to fucking show.

The slime was kissing one and had the others tiny mouth glued to his shameful dick.

The image was ingrained forever. He was holding her down, a child.

What a grandiose concept you know, owning another entity.

It’s beyond sickening. As if we even own ourselves.

 

I sat on the beach and brought each pebble together.

They shall collude with one another like we do, my thoughts.

Live with one another freely, no one knows exactly what it means.

Be respective of being, not the so called justice that has been holding us down by the throat.

About Sean William Lynch
Sean William Lynch is a poet from New Jersey who was born in 1992. Lynch's first book of poems "the city of your mind" was published in 2013 by Whirlwind Press. Frank Sherlock, the poet laureate of Philadelphia, called Lynch's debut poetry book "visionary." CA Conrad claimed that the book was "marvelous!" S.W. Lynch's writing has been featured in numerous publications online and in print, including Milkfist, Poetry Quarterly, and Tincture Journal.

12 Responses to Overbearing Awareness

  1. Did all that actually happen? If so, I’m so sorry you had to be a part of that.

    • Sean Lynch says:

      The limo thing is different, something I saw online that infuriated me… all the rest is true, I may wait until the man dies before I release all of the shit he said to me.

      • heck, why not release it now? create a blog post, do a youtube video. not only will he be known for the monster he is for the rest of his life, but the police will check to see if he’s been doing anything recently and they may arrest him and put him in prison…where pedophiles are treated none too kindly.

      • Carolyn says:

        He’s dead. He died within the last few months. We were contacted to claim his body because we have the same last name. We have never met him and no one in the family wants anything to do with him.

        • Sean Lynch says:

          Thank you for updating me on this. I was dimly aware of it because I’ve been getting searches saying that he was found dead. It adds some closure, although he didn’t do anything to me other than threaten to kill me and stalk my ex girlfriend.

  2. dizzy says:

    She wasn’t so much a 13-year-old runaway as she had been left for dead… Found herself in a ‘prison’ for children… — temporarily, as she had committed no crimes…

    Carole was 9. She related the story, matter-of-factly, of how she became a prostitute to all the girls in the wing. It had been a woman? A woman she worked with on the ‘Railway Strip’. How…? The woman was washed-up. Couldn’t get the ‘tricks’ without little Carole.

    She was like a grotesque caricature. Carole was. She smoked and spoke like a sailor. She was hard. Tough as nails… Relating their exploits like she was recounting a grade-school field trip…

    Ugh.

    The girl puked for three days… It still makes her sick all these years later…

  3. dizzy says:

    Back at cha, babe? 💋

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