I was born from cold bones,
baby girl full of dreams for him,
at the bottom of a bottle.
'Looking up at the world through whiskey
makes you twisted in life' I say
When he calls to tell me,
what a failure I've made him.
I was held by rough hands
'Picked cotton till the bleed' she says
and tells me of the peace I need to find,
in the savior.
I ask her what she knows of god.
Ask her why I cant remember
having a mother.
Wonder if she was ever kind.
I have known toes in cool spring sheets
and warm summer grass.
But when the smell of sunshine faded
I always went home to those bones.