when i was in sixth grade i got dropped off
at the library every day after school.
my mom was at work and my dad long gone.
there was a mini whiteboard at the desk
for kids to write a note to their parents
if they went to 7/11 for soda.
monday through friday i roamed the stacks
looking for books on esp and wilderness survival.
the only section i never strayed into
love was irrelevant,
sex was something meant to hurt you,
humiliation passed on
behind the bathroom door.
i was just trying to learn how to carve
a canoe with your pocket knife and
lash shelter together with vines.
i had friends who hid
trashy pink covered volumes
under their beds. they traded them
back and forth with whispers
and wondering about first kisses
and first times
and what it would all be like.
i was horrified.
the flipped hair, the bicep curl,
heavy breathing and thrust,
someone’s lace on the carpet.
and already the boys on the playground
with rolled shirt sleeves
and designs shaved at their temples,
the girls with short acid wash skirts
and aquanet bangs.
not for me.
desire was foreign,
carved out of my body like a tumor,
cancerous possibilities that will just
i was hell bent on escape,
honing my super powers
roots in the dark dirt.