life is beating me down

i'm wearing down,

number two sandpaper

against soft, pale flesh

 

i think mommy would

be proud that i'm still

standing against the onslaught

 

life doesn't seem to like

me, favors the other girls,

gives them pretty dresses and new shoes

 

i wonder if god considers it

a sin to cry in chapel, if you-

-i can't pray, i think the sandpaper's back

 

and one day i think that my

mommy is going to come home

early in the morning just to find-

 

-just to find an empty bed

and unworn clothes on the floor,

and of me no trace left behind.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed