I don't quite know how you did it
But I remember it so well.
On a spring morning
In May
You saw me sitting alone at the coffee shop

You took a seat at my table and drank my coffee
Pulled me out of my chair and said
I want to be able to say that I went
On an adventure with a beautiful broken mystery
Like you.

Dazed I was, you made me
Tagged along, I always was quite awkward
But there was a sparkle in your eyes
That reminded me of my father's
Oldest scotch at the back of the liquor cabinet.

Instead of sweeping me off my feet
you tripped me up and gave yourself
the excuse to pick me up again
and the smirk and the sparkle
and the roughness of your hands confused me.

And when you rolled up your maps
And packed up your compass
And left me stranded in the jungle,
I realised I should have known
That the sparkle in your eye was dangerous.

there was a rip in my stockings,
inner limb, long and exposed.

"i like your tights"

clunky boots, shorts, a skirt, a dress.
i was wearing them when your fingers played
with my insides.
legs long enough to drown in,
did you imagine them tangled, bruised?
my thighs are my gems, they will quiver,
damp under the sheer, ripped, flowered, polka-dotted
material.

daddy, lover, with your palms along
my calves, your teeth ridging the edge.
baby boy, with your nails tearing my hips.

i will be your black-eyed beauty.
the night you spoke my name in inked lights,
the night your lips tasted like cigarettes and chocolate,
my tights shredded.


knee high socks and blood red lipstick,
i’ve been wearing nothing but ripped
tights.

911 used to be scabbed on the back of my
knees, and soaked carpets
were like coming
home. her eyes were nothing like
mine, and the police always
wanted to know. but i hated the way their
lips smacked against their teeth.


911 used to be tied to my fingers with
****** ribbons, and if you ask me who my kindergarten
teacher was, i couldn’t tell you.
chocolate milk nights were thick with
bruises. i made friends with the images in between the tiles
in the bathroom.

911 used to be etched on my stomach,
and even now i cannot see red blue and white flashing lights
without wanting to puke.
six months is forever when you’re seven years old,
but daddy
always said life is too short
anyway.