You let my arms turn into holes.
You watched as the holes swallowed up all of the garden lizards and tomato plants in my mother’s backyard,
And you said cut your skin and spell your name wrong.
Spell your name wrong and feed the garden lizards to your pet.
You said that I would feel better but my skin was burnt the red color of the clouds and the holes in my arms felt like the sun
And the sun burnt my mother out of the sky and I didn’t feel any better.
The holes in my arms healed.
They healed into lifeless rat bodies.
I turned into a lifeless rat body and sank to the bottom of a pool in your mother’s backyard,
And I swallowed water until I choked and until my lifeless rat body turned the blue color of your eyes.
You painted my eyes blue, so that I could look like you.
You watched as the swimming pool drain swallowed my blue eyes,
And you watched as my face floated down the storm pipes underneath my mother’s home.
I remember collecting my organs with my left hand because they were trapped underneath mud and topsoil, and you stood there and watched and spit at my last name.
I remember this because my cheeks flushed and you slapped me (I didn’t look good as the color pink).
I dug until my fingernails bled, to find my organs, and I could see your name spelled out by a school of fish and garden lizards,
And I remember hearing your name called by your mother because you needed to fish the dead rat out from the bottom of the swimming pool and I was a lifeless body with no eyes or name.