at least I'm not sixteen anymore
drinking all the hard stuff
I can find in anyone's basement or
get men in parking lots of liquor stores
to buy for me in brown paper bags. Keeping it down
with greasy chicken sandwiches, chocolate
and gasoline
stolen with my mouth on a hose into an old
metal can. Blacking out in back seats
or $15 motel rooms, getting
the hot fevers in the early
hours of blizzards
that burned my dreams into ashes
caught in the low hanging branches
in the woods behind the church. Staying forever
homeless, completely completely abandoned -
knowing God has cut me out or
it was my mother who sucker punched me over and over and left
me bleeding, jagged, feral -
begging to be free.
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