PUTA: a poem

You look the same
in your fifth grade
ID picture
but different

I look at you now
as you slump
against the back of the
green, metal chair
and wonder
where did that open-eyed
wild-haired
bright-faced ten-year-old
go?

You didn't have bangs back then
maybe the fringe hiding your right eye
is what makes you evil
maybe the hair gel seeping into your brain
makes you ask,
"are you on your period?
is that why
you gave me detention?"

the little girl without the eyeliner
would never have said the word "pad"
out loud
without trying to
smash chin
into chest
bright red
mortified
wanting to disappear.

so where is that
sweet
little girl?
her frizzy black hair
now flattened and gelled
her wide eyes
now covered in shadow
her mouth now spewing
spanish words i
shouldn't know
the definitions of
but i do
unfortunately

well i might be a
PUTA
but i'm still the
PUTA
who tries to wipe the slate
clean after every nasty comment
you can't resist yelling
i'm still the
PUTA
that wants to read your words
even if yesterday they were
swears screamed at top volume

not every puta can do that