The impulsive change is its own verse—

reveals more than than I ever intended.

With the children, my words are terse,

but they’ve found that I am defenseless.

A child, like them, in so many ways,

curling my hair and fixating on the mirror.

They know the dread in each day

the message louder and clearer.

I let the heater blow on my face,

run the tub and put off work.

They know that happiness is just a race,

run just as fast by a checkout clerk.

That, I’ve yet to learn, and I bury my head,

I hand out my tests and surveys,

In five years, they say, they’ll be dead.


The fucking, the candle,

me pushing for more,

putting on his sandals

and walking out the door.

I came onto set,

ended up in his bedroom.

Alone with a cigarette

thinking I’ll see my love soon.

I know how this happened—

because I’m weak.

I need to wash this off and have this end,

He and I were at our peak.

I’m perverted and sick,

forgot how to care.

Nothing ever sticks,

and I made myself a dare.

Each someone’s son,

not to be chased after.

I don’t dream of anyone.

I dream of disaster.

Being treated like a queen,

like a doll with strong morals,

but I’ll replay this scene

’til the bright becomes dull.

My record was clean before I lost control.

I ran around and lost myself,

just to keep from getting cold.