Suburban Decay

Spin! Spin! Spin!

Your Mother is here,

amidst the flock of crows,

cawing critics.

All you’ve ever asked is to be seen,

but how horrid it is to be perceived.

And you have never felt so ashamed,

of ladders in maillot,

of the scar on your thigh,

from a man,

who called you Lolita,

and never Christine.

Focus girl!

But you feel so faint.

You can’t remember when you last ate,

Yet you’re afraid to eat again.

Nobody ever asked you,

Why do you fear the exhale?

And now that fear has gnawed through,

the nicotine and coffee,

devouring your stomach’s lining,

and all this pain reminds you,

you’re a ballerina’s daughter.

-Rob Padfield