Ugly Things part II

I remember when the electric line fell in front of our house
and a big red policeman told me I couldn’t go home
while I cried,
and then went to someone else’s
and drank until my stomach shimmered to the rhythm
of the rain. I remember
drink
and lots of it, and probably every day and all alone
but I try not to remember
that. Or the way
I’ve spent most of my life
getting yelled at
or trying to die, or something
selfish and awful and sad
in the way only a baby girl
can be
really.
Do you think they remember me
the way I’d like to be?
What about the summer I wore lipstick every day
and touched it up in a little gold mirror
and wore flats to
the rodeo. Or what about
the summer I tried to fuck my neighbor Cait
but chickened out
and watched gay porn instead. And I’ve
spent most of my life
waiting for the other shoe
to drop right on
my forehead.