cinnamon thighs and daddy boys • poetry

year 4

fourth grade and your daddy left. it was the talk of the town, what with him being so 'important and smart'. guess he wasn't so smart after all.

i remember that day. i remember your honey pot eyes melting and boiling and bubbling into a cauldron of magmatic hate, embers flying down your cheeks as you sat on the chipped green bench in the corner of the yard. i watched as your milk teeth shed and you snapped the coloured pencils and stuck in fangs. i watched as you gnashed and barked and snarled at any boy who came close to you. the girls were too busy cooing over your tragically handsome downfall from afar. i was too busy watching you feel. watching you fall.

how did it feel, love ?