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ALICE THORPE
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Muzzle


      Don't speak, don't ever speak
              of the things you feel, or think you see
      Whatever would people think, what ever would people say
                    What would it look like?
 

                      Only my own perception
                      lies
                      passionless people in a web of
                      lies
                      Downfallen, crestfallen, silent
                      lies.

       This is a world where you are legally innocent
       until the lies prove gilt, where innocence lies quietly
       and I can't think why. After all
       no one would actually
       do anything, would they? no one expects to behave differently
       because they've heard that maybe..

       unless, of course
       they know it's lies, and the innocent won't answer back
       sometimes without trial, recourse to justice
       one word will lose,
       lifetime of work, savings, children and
       knowledge that one was worth something
       Saw what one saw, felt what one felt.
                                                   but
       only when they really know it's safe-

       (oh, to have somewhere to speak,
       where it won't get back
       to hurt them, oh)

       Who is defenseless here? Must those
       already weakened still shore up
       the dam, the reputation of the one who weakened them?

Let me tell you,
       The first thing is to acknowlege that you're
       powerless
       first thing to make you sick, first thing to make you well,

But don't,

              Don't speak, don't ever speak
              of the things you feel, or think you see
       Whatever would people think, what ever would people say
              What would it look like?

                      Only my own perception
                      lies
                      passionless people in a web of
                      lies
                      Downfallen, crestfallen, silent
                      lies.

       Ah, but I ask myself sometimes, What really is? A mother
       loves her child, therefore,this voice is
       love, these bruised ribs
       love, and shattered speech, outcome of
       love,

                Did I cause this? Do some wickedness
       that brings me punishment, or guilt or -
              it may have been a door
       a fall, that's it, look what I've done
                to the floor, falling on it, making it
                      bleed that way.

Did you know my dad's a drunk? Well it
       won't hurt him to say,
       he's miles away and in another
       country now -
               Two in the morning and
       I
       wouldn't let him in, watched his grey head
       weave disconsolate the starlit drive,
       felt
       heartbreak and
       guilt because
       after all, he's elderly, it wouldn't, would it,
       have hurt me, would he? why was I frightened
       truly
       of this poor old man?

       his reputation's safe, but not
       my mind. How could I even think
       such things?

              Don't speak, don't ever speak
              of the things you feel, or think you see
    Whatever would people think, what ever would people say
              What would it look like?

                      Only my own perception
                      lies
                      passionless people in a web of
                      lies
                      Downfallen, crestfallen, silent
                      lies.

Everyone else was so sure
       of themselves, but I
       doubted, and in the end,
       for me, there was
       no benefit of doubt

They knew they were not wrong
       so I must be,
              guilty
              as charged
               one word
       here, hints immaturity
       another
       weakness, and another
       hysteria
       but it would be cruel,
       wouldn't it, to say
       They hurt me?
       They might
       lose everything,
               as I did,
                       People
       might know,
       might guess,
       I might
       begin to tell myself
       some truth.

I might stand up, at last,
now that they're far away
and can't be hurt by me,
or mind blind, hidden failing..
say
       I'm Alice
       child of an alcoholic
                        alcohol
       affected
but I wouldn't say
       I married one,
       that's not my business
       my diagnosis fee
               and I am
       powerless
       powerless before
               the one who battered me
       powerless before
               my own dependency,
       helpless to tell the truth
               disturb the passionless
       cocoon

and who am I? whose guilt, whose silence lost my son,
career, friends, shapes, chances, talents, opportunities,
laughter, home, health. I asked for it
by silence
       it was I who lied
       said "He can't come to work
       because he's ill"
       I who ran
       right across town to fetch
       an "ailing" father
       three days drunk and folding
       on the sofa of a friend

and yet,
       it's not my place to name him
       what himself he does deny

       when my jaw ached and teeth
       dropped out I know
       of course I know
       it was my fault, there was no
       punch delivered me
       by that dear wonderful, such a devout woman, such
       a delight at parties
               thats
       a good thing, isn't it?
       no one ever knew..
              good for a sixteen year old
       not me,
       still to visit grandad
       just in case
       grandma would know
               grandad had been loving
               children
               all these years,
   and Dad's wife tells me that
       he doesn't drink, the nurse declares
       my mother's love
       and the odd acquaintance asks
               what happened to you?
               where did all your talent go?

              Don't speak, don't ever speak
              of the things you feel, or think you see
     Whatever would people think, what ever would people say
              What would it look like?

                      Only my own perception
                      lies
                      passionless people in a web of
                      lies
                      Downfallen, crestfallen, silent
                      lies.

The woman who drove me to alanon speaks
       comforting. No one
       would ever know
       a drunk lived here.
                       I know
       that's so. Deep in the night
       I work to hide the things
       he does and doesn't do

       (oh, to have somewhere to speak,
       where it won't get back
       to hurt them, oh)

       It didn't stop the lies
       with no recourse to justice,
               I deserved
       all that, and more,
       it's I who's tired, not
       coping, he's
       alright, and I who weep,
       I must be mad I said, who stare
       at an x-ray
       that records a blow
       that never was,
       remember words that shrivelled flesh,
       deny they ever said..
       after all, what kind of person
       would allow
       such treatment of themselves, remember

       It was I who burned my poems,
       turned my head and knew
       that no one else would ever know,
       no one who cared
       to hear, to hold, to touch
       or kiss these tears away.
       Crying about nothing
       passionless
       power
       less

       (oh, to have somewhere to speak,
       where it won't get back
       to hurt them, oh)

               so
               If my health and sanity's
               delayed a bit,
       wouldn't it kill them
       if everyone knew?
               don't mention it
               until they're dead
               and then
               don't mention it
               don't speak
       ill
       of the dead. They can't defend themselves
       they're really
       vulnerable, and wouldn't it be wrong
       to say?
 

No. Better this,
       this
       never happened,
       and their reputation's safe
       and mine
       is dead.

 

Alice Thorpe
17 September, 1997