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The Things I Have Learned
The wind scrapes my shoulder,
a knife too dull to cut and too sharp to not hurt.
But I have felt worse pain.
Those summer nights
when the burns on my hands were memories;
the rules Mama taught me with a smoking pan.
“Don’t talk back” printed on the right,
“Never leave” on the left.
I hold my arm to the sky,
watch the way dark flashes across my skin;
small squares that imitate the chain link fence.
Papa never gave it a second thought,
leaving his wife and daughter,
abandoning something real for a bored man’s desire.
Mama called her “That woman.”
I called her “The one he wanted more.”
The sun sinks to the wet ground,
and I listen to the first sounds of night;
Wait for the dark to cover everything.
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u go, gurrlll!!!!!
wurk iiiiiittttt :)))))))
*__- <-- that's a winkkkk
i is so feisty!
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