Thoughts from a poetry reading.

I went too far.
They told me I was going to, so it was simply inevitable.
I never really had the idea until they took me into the counseling office when I was 13 and called me a whore with the only destiny of early pregnancy and drug addiction.
It was a confusing comprehension that I gained quite quickly.
Are you listening. 
To be taken into a room all alone with one breathing authority that everyone is brainwashed to look up to, 
and the dragon tells me that they have to protect everyone from me because I’m a disease.
Can you explain that to me please.

I’m thirteen fucking years old.
I gave someone a black eye in 5th grade.
I smoked pot ten times.
And so what if I was a drunk already with bad shit grades.
I don’t have bad intentions towards anyone other than myself.
So how the fuck am I putting other people into hell.
When it’s the girls, themselves, 
who come up to me asking me to give them head.
I’m so bored that I’m dead.
I’ll give Christian babies secret laundry room head.

Ain’t gonna tell ya what’s in between.
But I’ll tell ya I remember one of the nights when I was sixteen.
I finished my last cigarette from the pack.
Every day ended up like that.
Listen to me, but don’t react.

It’s four thirty in the morning, and I can finally sleep because my body gave up and melted into slumber.
But they come in, one after the other.
Never seen em before, but they damn well know each other.
And in follows my mother.
With lipstick well done and her damn perfume on.
They say, Get up, ya heathen one.
Get up before tha sun.

I know what this is because I’m a child of the institutional biz.
Tell me where it iz.
I should have expected this.
Because it was four days earlier when the FBI were knocking on the door in Daly City saying we know you got her, give us the girl.
But where the fuck is the window because I’m on my way to a vegan commune in Seattle, I just got to do a couple bad things in order to get there, okay.

But here are two strangers,
They hold onto me like my bones could never break,but let’s see if we can try.
And they step by step with me in the most cautious way because most of the kids in these situations get really scared and try to fight and run, 
but I know from experience that these people are trained to take you down like the greasy dogs on the street, 
only they don’t have batons.
Just a few classes under their belt that teach you how to slam a face into cement and tie hands behind backs.
But I been there before, and I don’t want nunna dat. 

The female transport was kind enough to hand me one of her cigarettes before we get onto the airplane taking me to who knows where, well everyone does except for me, the only person who is going to stay there.
And after landing and driving hours and hours into the depths of the desert, 
they take me into a building where everything is removed.
And I squat, and I cough, and I squat, and I cough.
And I don’t know if anyone has seen my asshole before, 
but I guess my number just went up. 
And I’ll never see those clothes of those shoes or that jewelry again.
But I guess that’s okay because I spent the next two months living in the desert with braids because we couldn’t shower, 
and nothing was ever clean, and this lesbian who I called Peter Griffin got horny when I described to her what I used to wear when I was hustling on the streets in San Francisco, 
and she begged me and begged me to come to her tent during the moon shine.
How could you want me if I’m a desert rat, and I can’t stop waking up from drooling on myself every night, 
and all I want to do is go back to the men who done me wrong.

I thought I’d go home, but bad things always last long.

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