The Dart Collective

I am many.

Inside of me are younger versions of myself.

Little Me's

Each Me is a survival machine.

Forged in fire and pain.

Created to help me through the next day, the next hour.

Each Me a bundle of isolation and misery.

Hidden from the central me.

​ Let me introduce you to Socks.

Socks is 4.

Sits on the lawn looking serious,

On the lawn without a smile.

Socks won't meet my eyes.

He looks at the ground halfway between us.

Socks wears long pants, a long sleeve shirt.

And socks of course. Even in summer.

Socks never goes barefoot.

Socks doesn't run laughing through the sprinkler.

Not anymore. Not since That Day.

Socks is quiet a lot of the time.

Quiet is safe.

But the fear and pain break free.

Breaks free in anger

Breaks free in tears.

Sobbing, uncontrolled, he hides in his room.

Weeping into a pink teddy bear.

Mom sighs with exasperation.

Mom stares in black depression.

Mom cries with frustration.

Mom breaks.

I go into the wall.

A twitch of dad’s lips show his disapproval.

I am Slipstick

I am 15.

Ultimate geek, ultimate nerd.

I get my name from the slide rule I carry.

And I can use it!

I think in numbers.

Numbers don't have emotions.

Numbers never lie.

Numbers don't betray.

Numbers don't reject.

Numbers don't abandon.

Numbers are always there for me.

Numbers are safe.

Call me Rebel.

Black jeans, black shirt.

Spiked wrist bands. Spiked dog collar.

I rage. I fume. I burn.

I want to put on steel toed boots

Kick over every garbage can in town.

I want to scream at the world.

"Who am I? Why am I here?"

But I don’t do this.

Maybe I should.

But that would make me really…

Really...

Not Good Enough.

So I sit here, cool skin wrapping a core of smouldering rage.

The others call me Puritan.

I am shame.

Every rule I’ve broken,

Every task I’ve shirked.

Every juicy bit of gossip I passed on

Everyone’s misfortunes I enjoyed.

I am integrity.

I follow the written rules.

And unwritten ones too,

When I can figure them out.

I despise everything to do with sex.

Thank you mom.

Thank you dad

For raising me this way.

And thank you Holy Mother Church,

who reinforced all that learning

I crave everything to do with sex.

Fundamental drives.

Opportunities galore

Mortification of the Flesh.

I started jacking off when I was four or five.

Rubbing my groin along the corner of the mattress

Felt very nice. And helped me forget the pain.

In conflict then, driven two ways.

I know I am damned.

I know I will burn.

God’s forgiveness is conditional.

I must want to not sin again.

I don’t even want to want that.

God is love.

Love is conditional.

I am Ghost.

I am wary. I watch, I see.

Two hours at a party.

No one will remember I was here.

Back to the wall. Edge of the room.

The chair by the door.

Threat assessment:

Where is the danger?

Who is the danger?

Where is the exit?

Where can I hide?

Where can I run?

Here there be tigers.

I am glass.

​No one sees me.

I am fog.

No one hears me.

I am wind.

No one touches me.

No one cares.

Not even me.

I am Teacher

I wear a shell.

A brightly coloured Pysanka

Ukrainian Easter Egg

Bright, witty, smart

Good with a story.

Good with a joke.

Inside filled with darkness

Inside the ick of self loathing.

Filled inside, utter certainty:

"If they knew me.

If they knew the real me

They would turn away."

“Leave our group, we don’t want you”

“Leave our village, you’re unclean”

“Leave our country, you’re not like us”

"You can stay here. If you must."

"You can stay here. We don't care"

​ I call him Blue Stripe.

I don't know much about him

He has never spoken. He seems to be about 2 or a bit more.

Solid walker in that bowlegged way that little kids have.

​He wears dark blue shorts, and a yellow shirt.

Thin blue lines run across the shirt,

faintly green where the dye ran into the yellow.

I found him on an evening walk.

Boundary broken: Inside Voices heard from the curb.

​Angry voices inside that house.

Up back stairs I went with caution

Slunk into a darkened kitchen.

Evening light through the windows.

Through the door, there I saw him,

Standing there, thumb in mouth,

Standing in the twilit room.

Confused. Uncertain. Eyes wide open.

The Voices from a room beyond.

Louder now. Filled with Anger.

Filled with Judgement.

I know that anger.

I know that anger well.

I don't know how I know

​That Voice in that other room on another day

That Voice in that room had too much.

That Voice in that room picked him up.

That Voice in that room screamed in rage

​Young boy's voice shrieked in terror.

I knelt. Opened my arms.

"Do you want to come with me?"

He ran into my arms, silent sobs.

I picked him up, held him close.

Stroked his back, and spoke.

Spoke like I would a feral dog.

Soothe the fright, calm the fear.

“I am here for you now.

I am here for you always.” .

We sat for a long time.

He leaned into me.

Me just holding him.

Eventually the racking silent sobs quieted.

He slept.

I sat and wondered who and what and why.

Wasted years, unshed tears

Streamed down my face

In gathering darkness