Twenty-one years ago I was born to the daughter of a coal miner and the son of a poet. The oldest of seventeen children, I was given responsibilities concerning maintenance of the household.
My mother had lost her mind years before my birth, something about asbestos in the water she was drinking down in Oklahoma. My father had taken off wandering the country in pursuit of himself, and honestly I'd be curious to know when he finds him. Sure could use the help back around here.
My youth was a huge brawl of boys batting their eyes and dancing on tables way past my curfew, drunken, a virgin whore. I loved myself and hated everyone else for wanting to be around me.
I believed I was too good to be true.