sitting in the dark, chewing on my cheeks. My ankle bracelets don’t come off and they're still wet from the tub
she used to braid my curls before bed

driving on the interstate with my back windows rolled down. The front ones wont budge
she would hold my phone with the maps up, “get off on the next exit”


Id come home to fiery curls every night; i still do. Except they're mine and they smell like smoke instead of coconut shampoo