I smell my clean hair
and scrape my fingers down my soft skin.
I miss you, but not as much;
not as much now that i know what is my skin that belonged to you,
and what is my skin,
period.
I make myself clean so I don’t find myself how you left me
***** and alone.
now i’m only the latter.
I’ve scrubbed the dirt from you off my hands, gouged it from behind my fingernails.
What is left is clean, sterile skin;
not without cuts and bruises
from when the grime clung too tight, from when i pried it off with broken nails
sobbing
'get off get out leave me here'

With fingers holding the tail end of a cigarette (or the head end)
I wonder how my Daddy feels, when he imagines killing people who are different to him
cigarette companies make cigarettes
and he generates poison, and ejects it with his words.
His poison existed in my blood and in my soul for years
Mecca, Baghdad, colour, allah; the person, the religion.
I hated them all, with the power that Daddy hates cigarettes and of course the others
What gives him the right to hate all of those things, and tell me what I should and shouldn't hate.
I lift the cigarette up to my mouth and enjoy the thought of my bubble wrap lungs popping
I cough and it's rubbing it in my Daddy's face
While you're scheming dropping bombs, and becoming what you hate
I'm dying, slowly and laughing at the morbid thought
that while your hate won't **** anyone; your crippled manhood.
My hate for you is killing me
inhale, exhale.

I want to build a thousand houses, and separate myself into pieces and have each corresponding piece fit into each house so I’m not one thousand people all at once. I want to have all the things that I’ve wanted and may want in the future. I want to be a million people and live in a million lives, fill each house with who I am, was and will be. I don't want to choose just one, theres more than one me, each of me wanting something different.