Forks/Spoons/Knives

jamming the keys into my car,
I drove toward the setting sun.
this place makes you comfortable
with discomfort.

I drove fast enough to not have to see
my childhood bleed into my past,
fast enough
it became a blur.

see, I'm from the hospital
next to the drug store
with its windows busted out,
and that just home then...
though my family had no legs to stand on
though I had no ground to root 
myself in.

I don't think any child should
raise themselves,
but I do think
it makes them as tough as nails.

tracing the scar above your eyebrow,
hearing Bauhaus on some station
and never ever caring
where that road went.