i was born in a house on 5th south
my mother nearly bled to death
                                                           ­ i guess it's only fair that i am anemic

i learned to write long before i learned how to talk,
probably because a thumb was always in my mouth
and we didn't have a tv
                                                            th­e librarians knew me by name

i was always scowling, couldn't find reasoning
for my parents being sad, for the eating of animals
for not having any friends
or a cat of my own
                                                            w­ords were my escape from the start
                                                           ­  a lonely girl's only constant.

comfort is pen to paper
                                   therapy is a journal so used the binding breaks
                                                          ­                                                    writing is home