an explanation for the friend who asked why i have a problem with gumball machines

i remember the feel of the machine,
the heavy aura of cool metal, spitting
out cherry, strawberry, and lemon.
you never let me have my favorite flavor
and for reasons i still do not understand
(like so many things related to you)
i only ever held onto one for myself.

you would kick at the machine
(you never took no for an answer)
in the hope you would get another
and now i wonder why i was shocked
you did the same to my body there,
(i am forcing myself to remember this)
in the bathroom of the white alps diner.

and when we got back to your house,
i would feel around where i always put
the gumballs, a pouch in the side of a
big girl purse my mother had given me
(i never realized how young i was)
for turning six and i realized, then,
that you had stolen yet another
irreplaceable thing.

http://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/6f7q79/glitter/dig6fym

http://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/6f15lc/a_seeker/dig6esm