He was supposed to help me,
not help himself to me.
Supposed to show me
how to help myself,
not help myself to his body.
He was supposed to listen to me,
not the sound of his gaudy voice.

I was supposed to leave healed,
not broken pieces sealed in an envelope,
after pushing the bounds down the slippery *****.
It was supposed to last a few months,
not sixteen years.
It was supposed to cost me in dollars -
not a life in squalor and tears.

sit quietly. Play with your
Barbies on the floor. Don't stir up
anxiety. Momma has lots of
chores. Your hair is long. Momma's

patience’s is short. Just sit quiet;
don't cavort! Black and blue
don't mix with a dress of violet
hue. Don't ask so many things. And don't

you sing, hum or whistle. Don’t set
your momma off like a missile! ******
noses are messy. And your dressy in your
white gloves and leather shoes. Momma has

a short fuse. She has to have a break. And
she's no frozen steak in her icebox for
a swollen eye. Just lie down and take
a nap. So, momma can quietly relax.

aside like a cracked eggshell
after he scrambled
my brain. Cast me aside
in the rain like a broken umbrella

unhinged from the wind. He cast
me like an empty bottle of gin
after he licked his lips of the last
drop. Just tossed me off in

a trash bin filled of garbage
and rats and tin cans.  He cast me like
a doctor casts a broken leg, wrapped up
in plaster. And men drew with their

marker, calling me sweetie, till I looked
like a wall of graffiti!  He cast me with
the flick of his hand like an actor
in his play in a role I still have today.

in the morning
as the sun jumps over the horizon
as the sleepers crawl out of your eyes and
the coffee percolates.

She's not there
in the noon
as calls fly over the wire
and papers stack up like
flames of a fire
in a room filled with binders and files
with a wall lined with subway tiles.

She's not there
in the evening
as you stare at the empty chair
eating the frozen dinner
you microwaved.
Running your fingers through
a memory you shaved.

She's not there
in the night
as the moon sits flat
as a crepe. And you look
at a show that you taped.
The sheets on her side of the bed
don't pucker. And you can’t kiss
or tuck her in. So, you drown
in your fifth of gin.

at all! I might bear
a semblance around the oval
face and slanted eyes and bulbous
nose. And even if I've the curve of her hips,

bowlegs and painted red toes, and circle belly
that wiggles as I walk like jelly. And I might
scream and lose it once in a while I do not fit
her profile. And even if we measure the same

feet tall, and have the same chestnut, wavy hair
don't you dare say we're the same at all! If I'm
a jaded **** I'm not at all like that old ****. And if
we’ve lived in the same house for some of my years,

let me make this clear I'm not a bit like her. I'll not
deter from this I say, not now or another day. And
even if I've her DNA and her genes I'll tell you plain
as I've all others I'm not my mother.

to him
like echoes my screams
bouncing back to me
in painted sound
that shook the ground
I stood standing
and touched down
as an airplane landing
in a storm of turbulence
skidding off the runway
of his indifference

I call out
over the wire
holding my breath
placing my head next to the cell
pulling my hair back
to hear the recording, I knew well
after the beep I weep
hummingbirds flittering
like meat in the stew, I sit in it
a simmering shrew

I call out
to an empty room
the walls have ears
but don't hear me
as silence looms like fog
filling a swamp
and like peat on the bog
I sink in the romp

rope to hang myself with. He slipped
the woven fiber around my neck. I saw
it as a polished necklace. Every time I moved
closer it went from a strand of pearls to

a choker. He lifted me off my feet. I didn't
touch the ground. I swung from a
breeze. Every time I took a breath I grew
closer to my death. He sat back to view

the show, with a seat in the front
row. Munched on buttered popcorn and
drank cola. My head, spinning like drunk on
gin and soda. I screamed out at the last

second. But my screams didn't beckon
him to move. His lines became warper as
I slipped into torpor, till I'm dust in the air. And I'd
cling to his head if he had him some hair.