Her.
I felt
her tears
I felt
her pain
I heard
her screaming cries
In my mind
all over again
37 
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37 
III
Greyed pillowcases:
with summer sweat
and popsicle hands.
Homes on wheels
and laundry by coins,
we leave tonight —
crossing lakeside gravel
by the light of Aunt Kim’s cigarette,
back, like bloated infants,
to another small town apartment.
(via teacupofyellow-deactivated20130)
15 I.
Nine and I am stained, colored in black, solid with parental love from a house of waxed solid animals breathing all together in a crowded space. My father is the shepherd without a land of his own to plow and to bury the belts, chisels, plastic cups and razor blades from our common yellow toilet. Pills, paracetamols and bandages. I have sworn I will never let him near my closets filled with porcelain dolls dressed in red and black Lolita for tea parties, expensive yet so fragile when touch by fat fingers. My mother is a dog. Chained in purple porcelain beads, shimmered in a neat foiled dress to impress. Her teeth are white, bleached in poisonous oxalic acid; the years of lying, her hair turning gray, eyes betraying the sunlight, soon turning blind again when the moonbeams come into play with the wolves outside. I have sworn I will never let her near my face to cover turquoise eyes and toasted caramel fleece.
II.
I am blemished, dirtily and heavily. Spotted with tints of charcoal hair and sharp eyes like dustbowls in Sahara, brusque like a butcher’s knife on a slaughterhouse where everyone behaves and screams like cannibals on a show; gnawing on each other’s flesh and bones. Feeding and satisfying perverted frustrations of a dreamer on sticky afternoons. Beautiful morphed beasts that can abstract both the horrors and the splendor upon their river eyes. And my eyes are accustomed to bow down and scavenge for an answer I have not received up above the expanding universe. I have sworn I will not kneel again unless I am told to pray.
III.
I am washed away from my own skin’s burn of innocence. It has lost its primary colors borrowed from the cum of the rainbow .It has craved for other people’s hands, touch and sweat. Used and abused. Everyone gets used somehow. June bugs, spider webs, scarabs and earthworms no longer infest my dreams but skins. Different types of skins, hairs, fingers, and howls of a poor crying girl, sounding like silence, I never get to know the name of because she have sworn she will forget.
But never did.
6 