When the right date hits the calendar
some daddy’s give kids a teddy-bear,
mine gave me a .40 caliber
and a sweet goodbye vaginal tear.
It was black, and it was simple, but it was mine, and I felt loved when I hugged it goodnight.
I was born to give, and give I gave all that God had given to me, and even some I never knew I could. But after so much giving, nobody’d want me but the devil, and the best thing I could do was just to learn to be a better giver.
So I woke up with my mouth-full and my lungs empty. And my eyes full of tears, which were not salty, but bitter with a touch of fear. I pushed, and he thrust harder, and so I couldn’t do much… I didn’t know how to take, but I took, and I swallowed. All of it -my pride had never had a chance to flourish -I was too young and too gone for high horses. But I survived doing the only thing I knew how; I gave.
When I saw him reach to his nightside table, I brought up my “teddy bear” and asked him for some help. I pointed his nozzle to the ugly-giving man, and I gave him a parting gift, a bullet in the back of his head…
Now the noise is gone, and the sharp taste has been watered down by years of rainy days behind bars; where the sun only shines on one side.
I swallowed all, and you all hide in silence.
This quote of Cyntoia Brown sadly inspired this text:
“He would explain to me that some people were born whores, and that I was one, and I was a slut, and nobody’d want me but him, and the best thing I could do was just learn to be a good whore.”