from a heavy sleep, drenched
in the stink and wet of sweat
dressed in sad fatigue,
my room a tornado of everything that
once lived in the pink dresser
Dad bought me
the way my family sees me
I am still only in the second grade with nothing
I can safely call mine
I count twenty
of the first pages
once written only
for my eyes
grab
scissors
cut
rip
go to the toilet
flush