Don’t Fucking Write About Me - A. Lorraine

I just want you to know
When that bitch told me she was pregnant
My fist struck her stomach
I spent the night on a steel bench
Surrounded by metal bars
It would have been worth it
If your cells had given up
Turned to blood
And poured out of her

How fucking dare you
Pass the fork prongs up
They could have gone through my neck
Accidental tracheotomy
If you don’t shut the hell up
I’ll stab it through yours

I’d give you some condoms
But you’re a slut like your mother
You wouldn’t use them anyway
Open your legs, honey
It’s the only way men will love you
You are not my daughter
You’re a disease
The herpes of children
Dog shit stuck to my sneakers
I should have killed you sixteen years ago
So then I’d never have to look at you
Don’t fucking write about me
Or better yet, do
Let memories pour over your laptop like blood
So when your fingers stick to the keys
You’re reminded that no matter how old you get
I will always be your father
And I will always own you
Pray you don’t get published, girl
If I ever read your name in print
I’ll show you just how much
Slashed veins can run like ink

Contributor's Note

Ashley is an English teacher who has bookshelves in her living room lined with leather-bound copies of classic literature. Her kindle, however, is filled with only the trashiest of romance novels.


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