We entered through the back door.

I see a room.

A big metal cooler,

She went in and out a lot.

 

Some bread,

A foot long!

I was hungry.

But I couldn’t eat it.

She would scold me.

 

There was an air mattress.

She would let me sleep on it.

 

I was only 7,

I was always sleepy.

I was only 7,

She said, you can’t hang out with your friends.

I was only 7,

She said, never let them know.

I was only 7,

She said, be a big girl.

 

Do big girls lie?

 

I was only 7,

I lied

And lied.

I said that I was American,

When teachers asked.

 

Then,

I lied some more.

I told my friends that they can’t come over,

To play.

Because I barely had a home.

 

When they asked if I could sleep over,

I always said no.

I was insecure.

 

They had big houses,

Lots of toys,

And so many barbie dolls.

But I,

Lived on a mattress.

A mattress in a kitchen.

I did not have toys.

I did not have barbie dolls.

But I did what she said:

I never told.

 

Who would think,

Lying is for big girls.

And when little girls lie,

They force themselves to be big girls.