Break your teeth, over and over, 

on concrete and cars 

you refuse to admit are inedible. 

 

Get used to stares: the more you move 

away, the more the fire 

follows, catches in the lace of your hem, 

 

melts the soles of your slashed black 

boots, until there is no part 

of your body not in flames. Scribble 

 

daisies all over the sheets and curtains 

before you use your 

lighter, before you remember the other 

 

girls down the hall, 

the baby under your feet.