Me and My Daddy

my brain and its lack of memory says, 
‘he has never hit me before’ 
as he slams me against the wall, 
I vaguely listen to the concrete cracking 
or is it 
my spine? 
(if I come back and run my fingers over the 
wall will I find the little fractures that 
twin the scars on my back?)
my body says 
‘he has hit me before’
as I'm trying to escape the nails tearing my arms
hands grabbing shoving me 
my answering scream of
'I'm leaving' 

(you cant keep me in this house you cant) 
(the leash says otherwise) 
(the leash around my neck says otherwise) 
(the bruises on my neck say otherwise) 
(the grip around my neck say otherwise) 
'Is he dangerous' 
They ask me at the police station 
I blink 
my inner child says, curled up with their Daddy on a 
sunday morning, sleepy and squirmy, 
'I like the big dogs next door to us 
you know the ones with the dripping teeth 
and the froth in their eyes 
I like it when they chase me down the street 
And I run screaming'
and they say 
'but what does dangerous mean?'
under their fathers arm (their fathers leash?)

-Sobaagh Zoutenberg

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