the dad-fucked trash in me bows to the dad-fucked trash in you
She’s at the wheel again, that girl in the trailer park with her shorts around one ankle. I split in half that night and I’ve been collecting names since. My first alter ego was Maria. “Cut up, Maria," Dad would sing, "show me some of them Spanish dances,” but in my head the word flamenco just conjured the plastic pink flamingos in his neighbor’s yard. So I’d wiggle my body in a twangy bluegrass way instead, or imitate the video vixens on tv.
I get so lonesome for a soul doppelgänger. A bitch who gets it without speaking. We are legion, I know, wrenched apart and twisted into new shapes by fathers and uncles and mothers and aunts and siblings and weirdos encountered along our damned paths. But so rare to find one in the wild.
In the highways, in the hedges, I’ll be somewhere a’looking for you.
Oh, I don’t want to talk about it. Slut, show me your tits. Come suck Daddy. Crawl to him on your knees. Good whore. I don’t want to be Maria, with her clumsy dancing, or that girl sobbing on the yellowed linoleum. I’m grown now. I know what my body is for, and I want a girl who knows her purpose already because my mind is cacophonous filth but my soul is golden, it’s light as a feather, and I don’t want to corrupt a precious thing.
We can play pretend, though, if it's what your body needs. And if your psyche needs an alter, you can be Amber, after a girl who lived down the street. We’ll play boyfriend and girlfriend, and you know which one I’ll be. In the car, cinder blocks for wheels, I’ll drive us to the movies.
You’ll know more than you should on your daddy’s waterbed. Hear the applause? Jerry Springer and all his buffoons are so happy you’re practicing.
Honey you squirm so cute when my tongue’s deep in your Little Debbie cake. Hold your legs wiiiiide open now, sweetie. Here, I’ll help. Baby you take it so good for the men paying me.
Namaste, bitch, let’s get that cum.