The smell of drunk was all about him.
As he looked into me
my breath escaped my stomach
like a sucker punch.
When we would visit my Aunt Jackie
there were rules. My rules. And the #1
rule for this house was never, ever, never
get stuck in a room alone with Uncle Dub.
Uncle Dub was a bit of a drunk,
I never knew him to be sober.
He was a pedophile with an engorging interest in
the pre-tween me. I was vulnerable sitting on a
high kitchen stool that seemed as tall as the
Golden Gate Bridge. I was too afraid to jump.
Sitting on the stool, alone in the kitchen,
It took a matter of seconds to conqure my fear.
He walked in, saw I was alone and asked me to
spread my legs so he could get a little look.
I jumped off the stool with no fear, and ran to my mother.
My parents were oblivious to anything
but cigarettes and Ripple. I was oblivious
to anything but trying to keep my knees closed.
My father sexually abused me.
When I got married,
I hyphenated my name.
No one questioned it at the time.
But in the middle of my parents’ late divorce,
everyone wants to know about names.
i was depressed,
and i wanted
to take a
you said you'd join me—
didn't mean i wanted
netflix and chill,
it happened before words came
to tell me how to feel about it
newly connected neurons torn apart
forever firing blanks into the microbiological air