crossed-legged, my
willow boughs, unsteady
fawn on my feet, graceless,
undeniably
tasteless,
grey matter
formed less.
spilled polish on the *****
carpet, china glaze, liquid
leather, among eyeshadow bruises,
shimmering blue.
i’m scrubbing at the
stain in the ****
in my dreams, hot
tears soil the blemish, i
wake up to the smell of
pure turpentine
scouring my nail beds,
in sunday school they
say discipline
is love. i learn not
to know
discipline from control.
tugging at those
ragged pieces,
brightly patterned
second-hand
vanity
to cover my shame
/guilt
/doubt
/resentment,
he says
you have to (have a) change
(of heart.)
he maligns me, my
mouth rinsed with
soap and holy water,
cleanse the spirits from my
daughter,
praises when she hides.
my soft lips recite
repentances,
indoctrinated
phrases.
o, be careful little
heart whom you trust,
o, be careful what you hear –
the cruel irony of
these words letting others
undress me, lay me
bare, to waste.
