stripes across my legs arms and behind remind me of how deep those extension cords cut into me like lacerations from a sharp blade my mother is squeamish she hates the sight of blood and violence it's hard to believe she's the same woman who drew blood from me disciplining me cracked my brothers head wide open with a 1970 platform shoe she beat us purple black and blue I sustained broken fingers fractured ribs from being wacked with a broom stick and hit with broken legs off wooden chairs if that ain't violence I don't know what to call it I mean it behooves me how she leaped from a woman who committed all those acts of premeditated violence to a woman who swears she wouldn't harm a flea or fly the lie detector determined that's a lie I got the scars to prove otherwise