Ever taste
Pieces of your face
After he who creates you
Breaks you;
Hates you?

You were eight
You rarely ate

Too dizzy

You washed a clean plate
To look busy

You were trapped
Unable to fight back
You found comfort in fate
In wait of attack

But such a sequence of events
Touches certain sentiments

Thus it hushes
The percussion
With crutches
And cushions
Of perception
A weak walking exception
Too bleak of a self assessment
To speak or ever mention
You wish someone
Could summon correction
To the destruction done

Wavering
Enabling
A self righteous
Savoring of
No love
Like “Fuck it and let him leave these
Rain buckets out to freeze”

You need peace—
Release realities,
And memories,
And annual
Granules
That pail on piles of demands—
The pit fall quick sands
Of other people’s plans

Sail in the fountains
You still can
Rather than
Scale the mountains
They pan
For gold,
Getting old—
Only to wish they’d swam

Accountability
For truth
Is more ruthless
Than two fists,
Split lips,
And spit tooth chips