0
Sadadeen

These streets;
the ink smudge where the motion repeats
dry, cracked heels, dirty feet
Point A to Point B
and somewhere in between:
thoughtless impulse.

I spit a cigarette
lit the wrong way in the dark
a fucking waste
the taste never forgotten.

There’s six in this group
I flat-out refuse
to get in the boot.

I’m a good girl
doing the bad, coming of age, acting out
vulgar and know-it-all
unladylike and loud.

I guess (unknowingly)
all part of the “figuring it out”
through trial and mistake
and the choices I make
as part of the shaping
taking corners without breaking –
I squeal in delight.

0
Locked Door

Fifteen
and the memory

She locked herself
in the bathroom
refusing
to open the door

I was summoned, the authority
exasperated with hands in the air
“talk to her, will you”

“Go away! I want to kill myself.”

I could do nothing
but bare witness
to the moment that later,
we pretended hadn’t occurred

the next day
normalcy returned

and I rubbed my temple
where it had burned.

0
Unfinished

Sometimes I hear the words, coming out of my mouth
and I wonder what you think of me –
am I she of loose-morals,
she, the hussy, the attention-seeking
she of desperation, of self-degradation
she of poor judgement, with questionable choices
she, without stability.

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