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.