uncaring, cold, and selfish.
How can I be forgiven?
Who would love me?
Why would they anyway?
My heart is crying.
Understand how I came to be this way.
See the child who wanted her mommy.
Who didn't know her daddy.
Who wanted more time with her best friends.
To hold them when they were scared;
of turtles and grass.
Scared of the closet, and under the beds.
Scared of spirits that visited their house.
Scared to lose their mommy, their daddy.
Confused by the loss of their cats and dogs.
Tough girls in some ways,
vulnerable in others.
Partying big time with drinks at age 9,
pot at 11, acid at 12, boys at 13,
coke at 15, pills at 15, sex at 15.
Dancing in clubs with 18 year olds at 15
with 21 year olds at 15
with men, with women,
sweating off feelings.
Feeling we weren't loved.
Feeling we weren't special.
Dancing until the black beauties kicked in.
Dancing until the alcohol had no effect.
Dancing and kissing.
On the floor, on the couch, in the bathroom,
in the hall, against the walls, up on counters,
between buildings, on the staircase, on the subway,
at Coney Island, on Fire Island, on Long Island,
in the park, behind the band stand, in front of Angels.
Where Purple People feed you acid under the grape vines, in Strawberry Fields, at the Boat House.
Where Parkies sold you loose joints, nickel bags,
and dime bags on the cement playground.
Where no one cared,
no one checked up on us.
No one questioned why we weren't at school.
Why we weren't at dinner.
Why we came home with the sun.
Why our mascara made our eyes black.
Why we wanted breasts.
Why we wanted tongues and fingers
and something to touch us.
We were 15.
I was 15.
They were 13 and 14.
I was a bad role model,
I was the instigator.
Teaching them how to give blowjobs.
How to inhale pot.
How to snort coke followed by water up the nose.
How to shop lift while flirting with the clerk.
How to kiss a boy; with tongue, soft then hard.
Where to place their hands.
Why did I know?
How did I know?