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.