Twelve

I pull down | my white cotton panties | in a cramped bathroom 
stall at school | rust colored spots | dot the crotch like wet 
paint on a Pollock | & you remember | in Carrie mama said 
first comes the blood | then come the boys || forget all that shit
mama it’s only grown men | staring | fat snail tongues lolling
calling whoo | baby swing those hips, come on girl | show us your 
tits | as if a newly bleeding girl | needs fucked shut once open
 
my
panties, 
          wet. 
 
          & you
remember 
 
the blood,
          the boys. 
 
grown men.
          fat 
 
tongues, 
those hips.
 
a bleeding 
          girl, open.

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