princess

christine weighs
three hundred pounds or
more
her hair is bleached blonde and
almost always unbrushed

her breasts hang like pendulums
stretching from chest to waist
her smile is padded by
bloated cheeks

christine loves tiaras and
sparkly ball gowns
she calls herself a princess as she
asks social workers for cigarettes

she tells me that her meds keep her feet
planted firmly on the ground
and i think i would be sad too

it seems wrong to take away the dreams of someone
who doesn't even have
a cigarette left to smoke.

girl

girl, eighteen
cut her hair off close to her head
she wears pyjamas all day
going back and forth from
coffee pot to bed

out of pyjamas she still looks sleepy
eyes lidded and half-closed
she is smirking or smiling
i can never
be sure

today she left in ripped fishnets and
jangling jewels
arms decorated with the
scars of anger she
took out on herself

i wonder what they take out on her
or where they take her out
do they buy her big macs or
packs of cigarettes?
do they call her girl, too?