It’s eight o’clock, and my dad’s still not home from work. Mom is making one phone call after another to the bars around town. I am on the sofa working on my Romeo and Juliet book report. Unlike most people, I like the fact that there is not a happy ending.
He’s got eyes like wet cement. Sticking Junior is like finding your name in a graveyard.
I sit in the stall waiting for the mother to finish diapering her daughter. The angry comments that I had braced for as I entered the restroom and fast walked into the first available stall play in my head.
Hey! This is the ladies room!
Can’t you read!
American sex goddess, innocent
as white bread with trimmed crusts.
That was who I agreed to be.
He said almost nothing —, that was part of it — and I didn’t mind because of the way that he took possession of my body.
Erasure “I must have turned around, or jumped back or something, and then you dropped the knife and the meat was on the floor and you just started saying ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ over and over again, and you huddled in the corner and sort of held your head and rocked and kept saying ‘I’m …
I wish a bitch would tell me to smile, the arrow of my brow cutting their spleen out.
On my best days, I take my sheer black bra off before the deadbolt slides shut.