To almost dance
--Sharpies to hands,
with the always of me
enough--cut naked
ever feel something?
At birth
beginning
the just falling boxes
Birthday.
Eleven--struggled, cigarette out-stretched
Ninnies happen, and I gifts got.
~~smelled hate
Mama--teenage clothes, broken freckles
old beautiful she skin
like always, normal a time again
Do the old live on?
Mama?
usual be I eyed silly
Rebel teenager life
because mama pretty, fair
never a saw would
with just hands met by designing
start on under
to up mirror I
up at outta up--sneaking
for nobody out there?
and all this, my Abracadabra, the slow brother’s party
from tough on only one arm, porch girls
looking mirror,
Daddy on my mind? On that mind?
Psycho--so him steal more
old, too, I made light
And the background, that porch party
So Dale, my Ricky--younger
trying damn old eyelids
The blur is, I, high
--love a shorty and I be down
Remember I had marker eyes
drama Mama, I?
The scissors in bags for his eyes
& drama house
It old so I uplifted brothers
felt little,
screamed as a girl, eleven,
and fixed herself like love
Eyeing the bare junkyard sideways,
into the stealing dawn.
No one. No one, now.
Some day, some one!
Written from the perspective of Candy, from Candy, Sweet & Sour
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