I made a deal with God
I would use my beauty for good
by releasing it
but I’m thinking too much about my hair
You come over to remind me
what the outside looks like,
what weathering something means.
I demur at your suggestion that I’m
better than I am.

My mouth is sore from oral surgery
so I don’t have to go down on you.
The hydrocodone is kicking in and
it’s retrograde so you fuck me with
familiarity, like you knew me once and this would happen
and you’re a cloud passing by
and I’m a budding tantrum.
You leave.

I skulk around my third world neighborhood;
watch the men watch my backside shrink
as I scurry further from them.
Tuck my ribs in and
I’m at your feet again.
You carefully take the tangles out of my hair
with your sadist grip
as I threaten to cut it.
As you force my head down
to remember my part in this.

You rock me with familiarity like you knew me once
and this would happen
and I’m back at God,
withering trying to remember how not to
          (I take the scissors)
fuck up
    ( I start with my bangs)
everything you said I didn’t even have to touch
    (watch the hair fall to the tile)
I wait til morning to sweep the pile.

No one is here.
I am alone,
a squalling infant,
”you’re full of secrets.”

“cat calls”

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