I want to tell you about
running in the woods
and having your face whipped by tree branches
while your step-father calls from the porch
drunk off infamy
and I want to tell you about
hiding in hollow trees
so your mother does not see the bruises
only to ignore them
I want to tell you about how easy it is
to become a lonely child
for the rest of your life
and how friendly you can get
with the smell of decay
But I won't