when we pray
we pray with folded hands
bended knees  
trying to fit our bodies into a posture that is plea(d)sing.

bitten fingernails that had blood underneath them but minutes before
red ribbons of seeping blood billowing out quiet red veins...
so quiet.
such a quiet
death
it would be.

i pray on knees that i've spent a lot of time on lately.
by choice or by fate
only days before
doing things that i never dreamed i would do.
tears trickle down the side of my face and i dream
of other times
on my knees
in His presence
crying for mercy
that i would soon not deserve.

do i hate the god that resurrects my morality
or the man that abolishes it?

i miss my hair.

i miss feeling healthy.
i miss being able to brush it
and straighten it
even just touch it
without it falling out.

i miss feeling normal
feeling happy
feeling beautiful
somehow he makes me feel not beautiful
maybe it's not even his fault.

march 28th.
things got ****** up then
almost a year ago.
will i let it go a whole year?

i guess it wouldn't be too drastic.
i've already let so many things go.
i don't even remember what i used to be like
this new persona is so consuming.
i miss myself.

smile like you mean it
smile like you can't feel it
smile like the swollen match burns on your wrists smile up at you

do not be afraid of the dark.

the darkness cannot comprehend you.

do not swallow the dark.

it will consume you.

do not welcome it

it will take your offer

gladly

too late to run from it

it leaks out the corner of your eyelids

the corners of your mouth

the vacant ink cartridges.

do you remember how it felt to be whole

to be holy

to be sacred

do you remember how it felt to be pure

were you

ever?

if i wanted that kind of love i'd watch a ******* *****.

i can get that any time
any where.

if there is something growing inside of me i won't **** it
it doesn't deserve it
it didn't do anything wrong
i am the one
who did it wrong
i will ****

me

decide if you are afraid of all the things a person has done.

decide if the reminder of these things is too much for you to handle
even though you are just as guilty.

little poisonous thoughts creep in.
little doubts, little frantic feelings.

little glimpses of the depraved.
am i too
depraved?
was i just pretending all along
was there another path for me
or has the voice of fate
crackled over the stereo
dictating the sway of my hips?

i don't know why people call it making love.
it doesn't feel like love
it feels like fear
it feels like something i swore i wouldn't do
it feels shameful.

i could never tell you.
i could never tell you how much i hate you.


strange ache below my stomach.

who are we to create life?

you really like
labels.

you like being able to say
"i have THIS"
or "i have THAT"
now the therapist can begin a new ritual
a new rain dance
a new prance of prescription
to make me feel better about myself.

dyslexic
anxiety
adhd
PTSD

google is your doctor
informing you of all the ways you are ill
and without a formal analysis
you diagnose yourself
and then inform the world.

you like being able to articulate what is wrong with you
so people will stop accusing other outside forces
of being the cause
like maybe
mommy
problems.

this makes it all easier. because honestly
you don't know
what is wrong with you.
and you don't know
how to make your lungs feel able to breathe alright again
though you profess you do...
and that my lungs are in need of your theripistal jargon as well -
personal salvation at the hands of a 16 year old child.


i have seen more than you.
and the more that i have seen i have even understood better
and fully.

want to get wordy?
i was able to
cognitively deduce the situation
because my brain was fully developed.

tell THAT to your therapist.