Imaginary chalk screeches
inside my blank-slate mind
and I cringe at truth’s abrasion.
I know the hard instruction
of my past will not stay gone long.
Your echoed anger chases
me like a high-pitched squeal.
The very thought
of you grates against
my screaming soul. Parts
of me wear away
from steady sandpaper
scrape.

Speak your rationalizations then.
Pronounce your antiseptic proclamations
of care into my barrel-bottomed soul.
I can sink no further
than reach of your claw-like love
which would scratch last vestige
of surface protection, then
stand laughing
at the head of the class,
revered teacher to everybody
but crazy me, crying,
holding both hands ‘cross
my heart.