Kristin Garth

Fucked Up

I don’t  have to pretend to be healthy 
when I fuck you — that I like everything 
you expect me to do.  Brutality 
is something I crave — so sick of smiling, 
mimicking girls, behaved, who just to want to cum. Wandered
towards the summer camp boys for distraction 
and fun until I could run to the thunder,
your theater again, where satisfaction
includes suffering and requires my childish
tears (I should have outgrown a decade 
of years past but fear I never will). Wish
for a dangerous man to invade 
my windowsill, disrupt my buttercup
bed who could corrupt a girl foregone, fucked up.

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