when i was six my hair

haloed my face and i carried

an imagination so powerful

it would have blown us

all away if it could

but do you hear that

momma's screaming

come down here for me

or my children and i

will motherfucking kill you

for the hundredth time

but even still she yells

and i stare into my notebook

writing why until it doesn't

even look like a real word anymore

i want to float away

from here like a balloon

like a cloud, curls wisping

in the trails of the wind

my pen slips but i don't

scream for a band aid

my hands are bloody

because i'm nine years old

and with the help of my family

i've slaughtered that little kid

inside of me and i think

i'm crying because i guess

that means you've won