Lucky for a father who straightens,
squashes impulse with
impulse, the harsh gesture
regardless.

Razed versus razor,
childlike nicks—
believing any adult
what they said of me.

Provision, providing: a loop.
What choice was there?
Dumb sluts having kids—
when they could drink them.
Eject into the latex sack, the sock.

I got this way somehow:
doe-eyed, fawned-over—
raised selfish
as a hooved animal,
flat pool for the narcissus.

What hole in you
shall I aim to fill?