where

maybe you’re right about me.

maybe you’re right that I’m stupid and

selfish and

self sabotaging.

maybe my soul

belongs to the streets

where a different man

holds me every night

and the morning breeze

smells like crack and weed

and cigarette buts.

the next day is always a haze.

maybe my spirit

needs the fight

you push

i pull

and we both go

down.

maybe you’re right that

i’m a whore

(i wear my tits out)

and my values are like

inhaled smoke

and broken beer bottles.

always broken.

my daddy never loved me

and my mom never tried

so if you did

and i ran

i’m sorry.

i didn’t know where

else to to go.