A good disabled girl
smells like play dough and fingerpaint.
She has her behavior chart
tattooed down her legs like fishnet stockings.
Her mouth is shaped like a candy heart.
She loves you.
She is a candy heart: so sweet,
she will ghost away in your mouth,
become just the scum on your tongue
as you talk about how her parents are saints.
She will not object to anything.
Sometimes she cries, but it sounds like
flowers growing. Her tears
never get the floor wet.
She does not get angry.
She used to, and it was A Problem,
but anger’s sharp-toothed puppy got pressed
under the pillows of pills.
Don’t worry about hurting her;
she isn’t mad at you.
She isn’t scared of you either;
she’s not allowed to be.