new sorrow to make the last
dull against my wrists
i am immune to all knives
because i don't open them anymore

i can never sleep the night after a party

every worst situation that didn't even happen rams through my brain
in the quiet, frightening time between sleep and awake
a never ending loop that terrifies me

i get so angry
joe tells me not to be angry
but i can't help it

my stomach is trying to **** me
it says
red you left me empty
three days
now you try to eat something
tough luck, *******
haven't you learned yet

the elephant girl
draws excellent swirls.
i trip across the beginning of one
run along the loop
until i come to the inner-most circle
where i sit
and wait
for class to grind to an end.

slip through new cracks this time
cracks you had no idea existed until you pulled the classic
'look through boyfriends messages while he's sleeping'
a game you're too ashamed to admit you play.

it's not just you
you aren't the only one who objectified me
you taught me how
now i do it for you.

these things
happen

they tell me

these things
happen

every day.

i reply,

what planet
are you ******* living on

you are a beautiful little box at the bottom of my screen.
and somehow i am always shocked
when you want to talk to me.
the first thing i remember you saying
involved naked women and steak
and we were
twelve...
you're more awkward
than anyone i've ever met
and
the way you carry yourself speaks of unfamiliarity
with everything
and i feel like two planets trying to smash together
to make one
when we talk
because somehow
we never get
our point across...

...but
i
spent several years of my life loving you
a quiet little box
on the bottom of my screen
and you spent several years
loving a girl
with the prettiest feet
i ever saw

...i feel ok about this now.

dave,
i would make you pancakes
but instead i wrote you this poem.

sink into the steady familiarity
of someone else's life
a lovely,
round
three demensional
non-existent one.
absorb all the teenaged drama
broken hearts;
families
smiles
that aren't
yours
for once.
let the dancing tv heads
minister to you
for a while
so you can turn off yours
give the fried fuses a rest
try to
recharge

my eighteenth year
taught me how
not to love
but still
i trip
stumble
fall
into that which i avoid
so carefully
love
is a covetous
*****

i love that i am getting
farther away from you.
if i wanted to be close to you
it would be easy...
i don't like anything
that is easy.
i love *******
this long
spacious
gap
i love stretching
testing
seeing how far i can reach
in the opposite
direction.
i love this
big
empty
space
between us
i love how it gets bigger and bigger
the more i pry my heart
out of yours.
i love
how much room there is
for dancing
for leaping
for doing all the things
there wasn't a spot for
before.
i love that i can take
huge
deep
breathes
and not breathe the same air
as you.
i love
that i am not so close to you
that i have to mimic
your every move
i love that my hair
doesn't get tangled
in your fingers
anymore...
you left my hair
in knots.
i love that if you reached for me
not even your fingertips
would brush me
i love that if you yelled for me
i would never
hear you
i love that if you wanted to kiss me
you would be
disappointed.

i love
that i am not
near
you.

wow
you actually did
care.
though i'm still
at a loss
as to why...
not because i don't think i'm worth
someone
caring
for me
or caring
that i exist
i'm at a loss
because i can't tell
how you feel
and it's
******* me
off.
you said you're not
sad
you're
ticked off
but what are you
ticked off
about...
that i left?
why do you think i left?
i want to know
but i won't ask you
i don't want to
get mixed up
again
you always
mix me
up,
skyler.

labeled by the personality test i took for you
hoping you would understand the ticking in my mind
the blurred, erratic lines
that make me nauseous.

you don't even try.
you don't care for the beautiful wavelength that i bleed onto
alone
tired
waif-like

i just want a boy who cares about the noble tangle
the poetic fight for my life
that i begin every time i awake
still alive
the delicate balance the tension in my neck
maintains

i just wanted you
to give
a ****

out of my league
like a man holding a gun to my chest
your eyes crinkle
lovingly
loading bullets
between my eyes
out of my league
like a dog with sharp teeth
me,
an overweight ragdoll that you shake
playfully
out of my league
like you're just here to be exposed to someone better
i know the feeling
it's okay
i cut the heartstrings
i'm not even sure if they grow anymore.

i become extremely depressing at night
and i can feel it bothering you
in the pleading tone of your voice
the begging in your questions
you finally just give up
after a while

i didn't use to do this
it's a new thing
since you came
and went
and i came
and i went
and you went

i can't take a summer without you

i tired of this
so quickly
where did i go
all semester?
i don't think i've been here
at all
ask my gpa...
he'll agree.

i was just lying
with my cheek
against the rug
of my room
panting
wishing
my breathe would stop
and i suddenly saw
amidst a flock of papers
on my floor
nestled there
my little
quarter-sized
green plastic
turtle
that i used to keep in my pocket
named bartleby
i found him in the mud
one day
outside
in the winter
i washed him off
and he kept me
company
until i lost him

i
put down the sharp flower
i was about to slice my wrist with
and i pick up
bartleby

one year
eight months
four days
or
eighty-seven weeks
and six days
which all amounts to
six hundred and fifteen days
since you left.

fourteen thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours
you have been on your own

eight hundred eighty-five thousand and six hundred minutes
you have been without your strange, silly
redheaded daughter

fifty-three million, one hundred and thirty-six thousand seconds
that you have robbed your family
of happiness
millions of breaths
that didn't belong to you

i can't figure out
if i should still be so unhappy
after all that time
you'd think a person would get better
do people with divorced parents
stay unhappy
forever?

it makes me
afraid of humanity
if my own mother
can leave me
who else will?

but most of all
if i ever am lucky enough
to have a family
i know that i will never
ever
ever
leave
i will always
try to work it out
it's always
worth it.
i am worth it
i deserve to be happy
at least once in a while

i need to stop counting the days
but i can't.

If you find me broken by the road
Don't put me back on track.
That's what got me here in the first place
And I'm not going back.
Instead, give me an encouraging word
A pat on the shoulder,
A smile.
That'll help me get by on my own
If only for a little while.

monsters sleep in my house.

there's a few in the kitchen,
three in my bedroom,
countless on the living room couch...
a very ugly, menacing one on the floor
where the coffee table should be
but was pushed aside.

they stand behind me when i wash my hands in the kitchen sink
pressed against my back.

while i withdraw water from the open fridge
they push my face against the freezer door.

one monster's favorite place:
in my chair, my father doing yardwork out my bedroom window.
the monster told me later how much he wanted to throw me against a wall
how he loved the tension of those moments.

i can't even begin to fathom the monsters in winton apartments.
so many that skulk and tempt me with matchsticks and lighters and sharp nail files
while the real monster lies behind his screens.

monsters sleep in my house.

at least three years old, yes.
but even now i am not used to their presence.

gather all the evidence
sort out all the papers
you're gonna get it right
this time
no arguing
she can't argue
with the truth
set all the papers out
where you can see them easily
get your phone
dial
her number
call her
at your old home
(the battlefield)

FIGHT.

she cannot resist
she cannot defeat
what is right
forever.

just casually enjoying looking at other people's birthday pictures
and waiting for my boyfriend to drive two hours
to say goodbye to me
because even though he's the ****** he's the one who gets the last word

try to steal warmth
from the dry
cup of coffee
in your hands
shiver
quake

contain

contain

contain.

i remember every carefully constructed smile
that i composed for you
a melody
that i prayed
would snag you.
my eyes crinkled
into rainbow smiles
all their own
plump lips shaped
perfectly
dimples placed
with practice
just in the right spot.
you told me
over and over
"don't look at me like that"
jokingly
"you're destroying me"
you'd say
as you laughed
and smiled back
into mine
i wish i had known then
that every carefully composed smile
was wasted on you
you took my smile
and smiled it at a hundred other girls
you not only stole everything
that had ever made me smile
but you took my lips, too
no more
smiles

i feel constantly betrayed
constantly abandoned
constantly FORGOTTEN
LEFT
USED
by everyone.
everyone
besides me
gets to leave
gets to get away from this ******* town
these ******* people
our ******* problems
but no
little red
has to stay.
someone has to take care of dad
and it's always going to be her
because she is always there.
dear
sisters
i delight in the day
when i am not there
when the knife is not just dug into me
but into you
then YOU
will have to stay.
i hope you enjoy
feeling every little thing
that i had to feel
for two ******* years.
i hope they
carve wrinkles into your face
scars into your arms
and legs
i hope you write thousands of tortured poems
i hope you never get any better
and most of all,
i hope there is someone
who gets to do EVERYTHING you EVER wanted to do
and then never even
visits you
or thanks you
for taking care of dad
and for keeping their mind
crystal
*******
clear
of guilt.
sisters,
i will glory
in your suffering
when i leave
for good
which i pray
will be
soon
because i want you
to hurt

i am one big
tangle
of nerves
feeling everything
without perception
rolling through the halls
picking up all the trash
left around
experiencing
incorporating
them
all the same
frazzled
ragged
i TOLD YOU
i can't talk about this
before school
i can't be MORE stressed
i can't
handle it
but you can't help it
god
why
are you
doing
this to me

my cat makes me happy
he's a ******* ******
i think that's why i like him

people don't make me happy
they're ******* weirdos too
but not the good kind

people make my brain hurt
they all want a piece of me
to make them smile

but i am not a glass figurine
or bubblegum
i'm not even collectable

people want to talk to me
too much
i guess i'm a good listener

or maybe not.
i have a lot of things that i want to say
but don't

i guess
that's why i write poems
to tell you the things that i would say

if you would let me speak
or even
breathe

maybe that's why
i write so many
"*******" poems

i wish
i could
talk

i don't really write much poetry anymore
i guess sometimes you have to ignore the bad things
and be happy
and all my happy poetry comes out ******....
....i don't really write much poetry anymore.

politically correct?
**** that.
we all know
that not a single one of us
is "pc"
in our own heads
who are we kidding?
who the **** do politics think they are
anyway
to correct
me
pretty sure we're
the ones who should be keeping
politics
in line

peanut-butter sleep
from a green and yellow bottle
via a little
round
white
pill

we must gauge how much we like a boy.
do you like him enough to spend three hours
trying on clothes
and tossing them aside
finding some tiny flaw
in every
neckline
do you like him enough
to have nothing but water
for a week
just to tempt him to explore
your craggy peaks
do you want him enough
to cut your wrists
in anxiety
an hour before
you'll see him
do you like him enough
do you?


do
                                        

                                                           you?

i ache for the dimly lit late night cafes with wine bottles on the walls
and foamy brown cappuccinos on the tables.
i lust after the nameless, elegant dishes
and the martinis
and the sophistication.

you are wendy's at midnight
a chain restaurant on our anniversary.
practicality.

i want mindless rewards without guilt.
i want cafes and restaurants no one outside of this town has heard of
i want to be what i am:
twenty years old
fresh off the french coffee press
ready to sweep my way through all the archetypes i have observed longingly.


you're seven years too late, darling.

"yeah i'll help but i'm not doing all those dishes
i'll do
a few."
"i did those dishes every single week you were gone
by myself.
i've already done the living room
and
the bathroom
i just need help
with the dishes."
"i can't handle that huge pile. it's too overwhelming for me."
"well i'm sorry that you can't handle a stack of ******* dishes."
"well I'M sorry you can't handle being in a crowd without anxiety medication."
"why the **** would you say that?
i was fine until you left all summer
i was fine.
90% of this anxiety is your fault
why the **** would you even say that?"
"i reject that. don't even try to put that on me."
"i'm leaving."

so it's
4:01am
and my mother just texted me
which is kind of funny
because i just wrote a couple choice poems
about how she royally
****** me over.
she said she can't sleep
that she was thinking about me
(funny, i was thinking about her)
how much she
loved me
she called me her
precious daughter
told me
that she was praying
for me
but mom...
god doesn't listen
to people who abandon their families
still,
it makes me wonder
how did you know
i
was
awake

i say i hate you out loud
over and over.
i don't type it to you
just whisper what i am too afraid to say to you
sometimes screaming through the screen
i hate you
i hate you
i hate you
it soothes the claw in my chest
i hate you
so
much
i wish you would die and leave me in peace
leave me to find someone better

i hate
you

oh god.
half an hour more
and you'll get to see the sunrise,
lil red.
paint your toenails,
wave at depression
who's sitting against your door
because he's been locked out
for about
two weeks
don't worry about him
you can let him in
tomorrow

my little sister
who is just fifteen
speaks of things
she knows nothing about
she is always trying to tell me
that dad sexually abused her as a child
but she only believes it
because mom told her
i hate
divorce

mom was soft
like a cushion
when you sat on her lap as a child
and rested your cheek against her shoulder
she was better
than any
bed.

mothers should be soft.
i have come to this conclusion.
mom was never very thin
she was a perfect plump
with red cheeks
and rainbow eyes
and thin,
rough
dishwater fingers
that would stroke your cheek
and sing the goodnight song
she made up
just for us.

i don't like rainy nights.
it makes me feel like the whole world is crying.

some people are just cursed
with bad noses.
they could have an alright face
maybe even a really good one
but some out of whack
funky nose
comes and botches the whole deal.
p.s.
90% percent of the people affected
are bitter
*******
but i guess i can't blame them.

We will all meet again
When time has wound to an end.
We will grasp the frazzled, ragged edge
And run along it until we find
The beginning of time
And her twisted hedge.
She will clutch us against her silken blouse
And at last…
We will find our peace in that old yellow house….
Not one foul word will we remember
Not one ugly face
Not one weeping December.

It will all be as if it never took place
I won’t remember the cuts on my arm
The harm
I did to myself…
Nor the cuts I can’t see
The missing snowglobes on my mother’s shelf….

i stare at these
pages
with my glassy
dead
eyes
no connection
no palpitation
nothing that brings my heart
back to life
almost two years
and the pain is so deep
under the surface
like the memories...
i can hardly
bid them
rise

maybe this is good
and maybe i would think it was
if i could feel something
anything

stack all the dishes
in neat little piles
to make them look
smaller
pretend that you spent your time
washing the dishes
instead of in the bathroom
your head hung
over the rim
of the toilet

bleed out of me
until i am empty
take away what i see
set the pain free.

i just want to feel better
i just want to be gone
i want her to see
that she is wrong.

bleed
out
of
me.

there are never enough cuts
to heal the scars
everything could seep out of me
and still they'd be

there.

littlred's in trouble now
the scars
were found
someone's got to answer for them
and i hope to god
it won't be
me
i prayed for a year and a half
that dad wouldn't see

i'm in

trouble

i like to start off some conversations with a good old fashioned
"*******"

i feel it levels the playing field
puts us on
the same track
we can now converse without the usual presupposed notion that i actually like you
or you me
see?
we are now able
to talk about the ****** new york weather
and what we didn't do over the summer
with ease

say "*******" first,
please

my father always tells me
"Red, if you weren't so gosh darned picky,
you'd be having babies by now."

my father always tells me
"Red, why not just try
this one? why not just
say ok? just this
one time
go for
ice cream
with him
he likes you...
just
try
this one
time."

my father always says
"Red, honey,
you don't have to be so skittish.
not everyone leaves
some people
stay
don't let your mother
take away
everything
from you."

my father always says
"just try
just try
just try
maybe it'll be fine
you'll be alright
you can't live your life
in fear."

i always say...
"Daddy,
it is the people you love
that hurt you
and one more scar
might do
me in
daddy,
i love you
but i won't
love
mommy taught me
not to."

trip
drip
crash
the hours slam by
dear
you're supposed to be writing an essay
stop telling it to *******
you're never going to be anything
ever
you're not a poet
you're some dumb kid with a pen
trip
drip
crash
you're going to be out on your ***
if you don't stop
mooning around
trip
drip
SLAM
i wonder how much it'd hurt dad
if i opened that door
started walking
and never came back
maybe he'd only feel it
for a little while
i wish i wasn't always so
guilty
about everything
trip
drip
fall
dad i wish i could tell you
i don't want to be here
at all
i wish you couldn't see me
leave
does it count as running away
if you're almost
twenty?
back
forth
the hours sweep
and recede
dad i think i miss mom
i miss our big yellow house
i hate living here
let's leave.
skip
jump
flee
where will i be
in ten years
no
five months...
tomorrow
five minutes?
trip
drip
fly
i don't even have
tears
to
cry

there is a screaming face in the roof of this van
and i am starting to wonder if it is mine
eyes punched in
a ***** light fixture for a nose
a gaping, gashed mouth
almost smiling
in its torment

nothing lives forever
except hatred
when mother dies
everything she touched will smell of it
it will hurt to throw it all away
but it's better than living with something so repulsive
as hatred

sitting in the living room
on the wooden floor
staring
at
the wall.
alone.
echo-y house,
sleeping cats.
listen to the cars roll by out the window
look at your toes
painted blue.
try not to panic.
run your fingers through your hair
look at the strands
that come off
in your fingers
only three or four this time
not too bad
but how long
will it last
your pretty red hair
that makes you worth something
will it all fall out?

mothers are better at killing children
than bringing them into
this world
she broke me
and left me
a tired little girl.