just like a good little poison container

once upon a time
i was small
and lived in a trailer
in upstate new york
in a place where people
who don’t matter come from

i lived with the family
my mother left me with when i was two
and i dreamed of being famous
i sang when i was home alone
i wished i could be beautiful
i dreamed of taking dance classes
the dining room carpet was my dance space
and i lept acrossed it as high as i could
i imagined i was as graceful
as any ballerina
all of this only alone

i watched commercials sometimes
on the tv that said
if you are being abused, please call
the child abuse hotline at 1-800…
my sister told me no
it was not me that was abused
it was only her

so when my adoptive father
tried to strangle me with the atari cord
i never told anyone
and when my adoptive mother
burned me with her cigarette
i didn’t speak
and when she said
ok Cinnette, strip
i did
because it was summer, she said
it was too hot for me to have clothes

i did what i was told

and when he beat me
so hard with a broom that it broke
i pretended i was fine and walked upright
and i did the same thing again
after he stomped on my back
because i couldn’t find my toothbrush

and every single day
when she insisted that i was
a little witch
and i made her sick
so sick that i should
get out of her face
and told me how ugly i was
and ungrateful
i believed her
so that she would be happy
and because i knew she was right