Whorethority

 
My education hid with me
sharing dust under the bed
with a shame of broken springs
I learned little girls
must never be seen or heard
and that spitting out babies
by desire or design
may hoodwink good or bad hearts
but would not pay the rent

Mother always said
a future must grow of itself
and that one day
my cute little body
would be blessed
although before eleven
it was tough to understand
exactly what she meant--

Until those secrets
spilled over
and the johnsons gathered
like dirty flies on a bone
a line of one-eyed
faceless and nameless
always hungry
to muscle and grunt
a way in

After that
I learned to trace my dreams
higher and wider upon the ceiling
watch the blind caress the window
and listen for the birds
never needing
to hide myself again