'something didn't come that should have'
you never looked more like a little kid
and you wouldn't hug me.
visibly, apathy became your decision
thinly smeared charcoal to conceal
who were you trying to
'abortions aren't a big deal'
i never looked more like my mother
and you wouldn't touch me.
in the backseat of that jeep
you gave me some quarters
and told me not to tell.
'i gotta go to class'
i smelled stoned on you
and knew i would smell it later.
stoned is what got us here.
i hid my face in my sweater.
my pee said no baby
i said congratulations on not being a father
you said cool and i'll talk you later.
i wish it was