What do I do with the boy who shoved his fingers in my pants in the back of the school bus he twisted them all up inside my underwear so he could see what it felt like, to prove to me he was there. 

Sucking on a cigarette, I watch as he get out of bed to leave me alone in the sweat, the boy who rips my rosemary out from the root.

He was there too on the day she wrapped her car around a tree, the doctor they said she mixed adrenal with cough syrup 

He touched my hand to tell me he was there.

She needed rehab, but she never went, back to the bowl, this time it was stronger. 

He was there. 

He was there clawing, biting, pushing himself inside me like a dog,

I sometimes believe he’s still there, soaking everything up,