i didn't know burn marks could be deep like cuts
until i held metal in fire and pressed it to my wrist.

you kiss these cuts that you caused
keep telling me it will be ok
it will not.
it will not be ok.

"it will be ok" is **** people say
to crying people
not
dying people
i wish you knew
that you
killed me

house your pain
in a birdcage
don't put it in a cement box
where it can concentrate
and get bigger,
fouler
let it breathe

and maybe someday
with enough air
that pain will go away
taken on a breeze
that had nothing to do with you counting scars

...good things happen
you told yourself so
this morning in the shower
good things are brand new baby girls
that don't know what a family they've been born into yet
soft, sweet-smelling darlings
who don't understand the politics of their birth

good things happen, red.
just not to us.

wow
ok
well
i guess
i'm not going to stick up for you anymore
you really gonna let some
*******
lightning-pole
stuck up their rear
*******
put me on blast
like that?
and not say anything?
all i've ever done
is take care of you
beat off the ****-heads
that tried to make fun of you
told you
how much i adored you
and you really just sat there
and let me deal with that
by myself?

i guess i
know better now.
have fun
beating off all those guys
i held at bay...
i can't believe i defended you....through everything
and this is how i'm
repaid.

If I could pick flowers in a winter storm
They'd probably look a lot like you
Rough
Tumbling
Perfect.

There's something to be said
Of the way your jaw
Curves into neck,
Something that could be hidden
Something that could be kept.

Lips
Placed gently
On my cheek
Across my freckles
On the tip of my nose
I wish
I could catch
Every smile
Put them in a box
Look at them every once in a while.
Your hands
Stroke through my hair
And I feel
Soft
The gentle kisses
On my neck
Spark up and down my spine
We get excited
We clash
And re-align...

Testing
The confinements
Of our bodies
We strain against each other
The desperate lover
Tangled up parts
Trying to fuse together
Hearts.

dear red,
you are becoming quite excellent
at discovering human's motives
not that they are that hard to uncover...
every man
is looking for ***
despite the route he takes
through cooing
or
beating
and every woman
is looking for
something
to make her smile
for a minute
because we want to be sad
afterwards
so we can
cash in on that
sympathy
gift card
ultimately,
we are
selfish
pieces of ****
and this is why
i want so badly
to believe
in god

there are good, honest people
and bad, honest people
and i do not know what will make me not one of them.
we are all masochistic embodiments of the pain we endure
looking for similarities to cling to and grow out of -
i don't want to be one of them

but i do what i would not,
i am that which i despise

yesterday
dad took the huge mess that was sitting in the entryway
and stuffed it into the nearby closet.
i didn't realize what he'd done
until i opened the door
and had it all come tumbling out at me.
i teased him today
was that his idea of cleaning up?
i laughed
you just moved the mess, is all!
he looked at me
said
i don't care
as long as i don't have to
look at it
it's better.
...and i thought...
somewhere
there is a closet inside of me
full of old
sneakers

so ardently
so passionatly
so often you voice your feelings for me
it's always been what i wanted
but you've caught me too late
too unwilling to reciprocate
even if it were chris
i would change direction
i would sever ties
too immature for love
too small
too frightened
too unsure.
i wish you would let me be.

they all want to think they have qualities that will entice me
dancing beggars throwing text into the air and hoping it falls in pleasing shapes
watching my snapstory and hoping i notice
trickling through my internet stream
laughing at my antics as if they know me
begging superiority by the green sword next to their name
thinking that my biggest problem is clickbait that they can just time out and make disappear.

i entertain you but it's not for you
it's for me.

oh
small
white
oval
pill,

i send you down my throat
and i can feel the tension leave me.

i am only scared
for when you run out
what will calm me
then?

baby has given up on mommy.
it's been too long
to keep hoping she'll get better
baby needs to pack her bags
move on.
two years
countless chances
to make something
anything
just a little better
countless chances
missed.
baby doesn't need a mother
baby has two arms
baby can hug herself
rock herself
tell herself
to behave
to
smile
baby has a heart
and a
head
she can
breathe
she doesn't need
a mother
she doesn't need
she doesn't

need.

hi
my name is
little red
you know me
we were
bestfriends
i'm little red
maybe you don't know me
by this name
but this is me
when i don't give
a flying ****
i'd just like to thank you
for teaching me
a valuable lesson
that i should have learned
when my mother ****** me up...
that everyone
no matter how much you love them
WILL
******* up
over
down
around
and you, ANGELA
are a master
of ******* up lives.
i should have known.
enjoy your bluray player
that you gave me
it's on your porch
or something like it
is

scream out all the things you've been writing for three months
right to her face
when she comes
to apologize.
know that she will compare you to mom
you're ready for it
it rolls right off you.
tell her she's full of ****
tell her she's a ******* *******
tell her what is was like
this summer
watch her
not care.
watch dad
subtly check your arms for cuts
when you come downstairs
hate every minute of it
dad prays with you
asks God for help
i've been asking
for three months
time to stop talking
time to stop leaving
your white walled room
time to become recluse
once again

for the first time the ball is in my ******* court
in my ******* building
my ******* country
my ******* world.

unlike ryan
who held me like a delicate robin's egg
that had been emptied
(whatever way he held me
he managed to crush
something)
unlike him
you hold me like the baby bird that grew up in that shell
promising and astonishing
you marvel at me

and though i truly loved ryan
i don't love you.
because i could do anything
and you'd love me
i don't like that.
i could be the worst version of me
and stay that way
and you would still
stay

i don't
like that.

i've long since
recycled
that letter
you sent me
but it came back today
in a notebook
i bought
at walmart
your words live on,
you *******

there are a lot of things
that are missing from my life
many of them
left badly
like a mother
brothers and sisters
and Daniel...

...i don't have words
to describe you,
Dan.
and i cannot
even write a poem
saying that you died
because to me
you haven't
some little part of me believes
that you are still here somewhere
and that is what keeps me
from breaking into little shards
that cut everything
they touch
you are somewhere
on your red motorcycle
with your bone-crushing hugs
still drinking and doing drugs
and smiling, smiling, smiling
even though
they say that is what killed you
i don't mind the ****.
i really don't.
i liked your heart
too much
to believe
you were evil.
you weren't.
and despite what some might say
i think you are in heaven
if only for the reason you were sent
to prison
ask jesus
to hug you for me, Dan
jesus knows
a righteous man.

so apparently
if i am ever awake after eight o'clock
in the evening
i must devote all my time to you
and if i perchance tell you i'm going to sleep
but post something on facebook
afterwards
(******* FACEBOOK)
you get all pissy
and accuse me of still being awake.
so does that mean
you want to talk to me
or just that you're a
selfish
*******

i'm confused

i leaned across the sink
and let the sun touch my freckles
like i was doing him a favor
as well as myself
for once

years from now
i will look back
at all my summers
and get super nostalgic
probably.

people keep asking me
"so Red...what are you doing this summer?"
and then smile at me
like i have something
exciting to tell.

i *******.
for like
four minutes
until they get bored
and
walk away
because honestly
i have spent this entire summer
staring
at
a
wall
in my bedroom.
not even an interesting wall
outside of my house
...nope.

i have spent this summer
in various ridiculous positions
on my bed
or floor
in front of my laptop
trying to figure out
why this ***** so much
and why i can't
go out anywhere
and why whenever i do
i wish i hadn't.

maybe because
i'm tired of trying to make my life sound
PC
and exciting
when it isn't
and the people that ask
don't really care if it is
anyway
they just want something new to say
around the dinnertable
to more people who don't care if i'm alive or dead
but only care if i'm
lazy
then they'll
talk about me

yeah....
i think i'll just stay
in here.

people try to
carve smiles on me
like a chunk of meat meant for the butcher
then try to tell me
to be afraid
and that they are
sorry.

people try to
tell me all the things that happened to me
fair or foul
describe them to me
in detail
and then reveal
all the inner-most workings
of the broken grandfather clock
that is my chest
like they've sat inside of me
for twenty years
observing
when they
haven't.

people try to
make me see reason
or their definition of it
but reason is relative
as is too much in this world
like
truth
and
lies
and
parents
and it doesn't bother me
to stare into them
with eyes that i hope make them hurt
somewhere
because i am not a grandfather clock
that sat in a church
for twenty years
i am a redhaired girl who used to smile
who even breathed
sometimes
and you never
knew
me

even though i would never let you
i love how you would spend $138 on a ******* stuffed panda
to make me smile.

you're complaining at me
that you're hurt
that all the dirt
i said about you
and the crap that you do
made you bleed.
you're trying to tell me
that i need
to hear you out
but you don't hear ME
your one-sided personality
is shouting too
loud.

if you don't want to bleed
don't break hearts...
you ought to be more careful,
you'll get cut on the shards.
all you want is sympathy
another dull
piece of me
to add to your collection
of empty affection.

how quickly
thine priorities
abandon
me
stop telling me
how good my hair smells
stop
twisting it
around
your finger
like that
**** it up
and spend some real time
with me
i'm not an idiot
i get what happens
you get scared
and you opt out
go pray
for some guts
or something

wrapped up in pretzel shapes on my bed in the middle of the night
contorting and twisting
holding my head, lifting my legs
bending my knees
happily.
much unlike the way you contorted me for your own pleasure
much unlike the pretzel you kneaded me into
alike, but different.
so different.

he kisses ***** like he's dedicating babies
like somehow he's doing a great service
but no one really knows exactly what the **** for

he walks too close to me
up the hill
a married man
with three kids

he thinks it's fine to treat his wife like ****
in front of their friends
like he's exercising dominance over a dog
and exploiting how well it
obeys

a fourteen year old daughter
who has panic attacks when you drop a dish
or knock too ******* a door
or talk too loud
it sounds too much like
her father

i have never hated anyone more
than i hate this man.

i used to care about things.

like whether or not you messaged me back
or why it is wrong to swallow glass
and choke up prisons.

i used to care about people who traced triangles from the burn marks on their wrists
and now i am one of them.

i used to care if i looked pretty at every angle
i used to bend my neck until i felt stabbing pains
so you would keep telling me how beautiful i am.

i guess some things never change. especially those things.
i guess some things are just universal

just like truth isnt.

i opened a text
and then i cried
today.

because the "heeeey :)"
that my bestfriend sent me
isn't a
"let me see
if you're ok"
it's a
"please watch my kid so i can hang out with my boyfriend."

and i
know that you're really happy
that he's made you really happy
but i am so unhappy
and you don't even know
because you don't even ask
you only text me last
minute
and you know
i'll do it
i always do it
because i want you to be happy
but sometimes i want to
be happy
too.

over scrambled eggs and toast at 4am
i have realized suddenly
that i miss the red dirt of africa
in my hair
making my eyes scratch
and my skin
gritty.

and that i miss
marvin
...*******.
if that little boy
isn't ok
then nothing
is

i am plugging my ears
i can't listen to you talk anymore
lalala i hum to myself
stop talking
please
i can't handle hearing you say it
again
restoration
isn't gonna happen
daddy stop
mommy's not coming back
lalala
sing me a song
you're the piano man
dad no one is going to help us
it's useless asking, asking, asking
no one will say yes
lalala
plug my ears
i don't want to hear
anymore

it's funny how skin melts
and it's funny how i keep touching a hot iron to my arm
and it's funny how afraid i am of it
but it's funny how i love it
and it's funny how i feel better
and it's funny how ****** up i am

what isn't funny
is what you did to me

i will give you little paper hearts
and hope they'll make you feel better
a million of them
dropping from the sky
little love bombs
that float
like ash

i will give you hand grenades
of happiness
so you can throw them at the people around you
and make the life you live with them
better

i will give you a special one
for you to pull the pin
but stand there and hold it
until it releases
in an explosion
of peace

i will give you heart-felt bullets
to shoot into your vital organs
and anyone else's
you see fit
in order to penetrate
their crusty
bent
rusted
shells
and make them
feel
again

i will give you
and endless supply
of tasers
to wake us all
up
to love

i will give you
bombs
lots of them
but you must promise
to set them off

your razorblade tongue ran across my forearm
my *******
my thighs
i know it isn't right
but make a mistake enough times
and it no longer feels like one
i am always fine
until i am alone
in my room
thinking about you
and your
quick
cutting
tongue
on my skin

forgive me lord
i have
sinned

this is what
washing your hands looks like.

every useless night
i stayed up till 3am
to talk to you
i'm washing off my thumbs
off my eyes
off my heart.

every afternoon
i walked to the park
and you called me
inbetween
all the other girls you call
and i picked at flowers
in the 90 degree heat
looking at
my dusty feet
wishing...
i wash off
of me.

every time
i examined your face
looking for that smile
that hid from me
sometimes...
every ripple in your arm
every bit of your shoulder
i wash off of
me.

all the smiles
i composed for you
all the laughs
i trained perfectly
every freckle
every spark in my eye
every time
i told you that i loved you
i wash off of me.

every time
i tried so hard
to talk to you
to let you know
how it felt
every time
i hurt for you
for the lies
you fed me
i wash them off
of me.

every
single
fight
every
single
word
every
single
breath
i breathed
with you
every curl of my toes
every time
i destroyed you
i wash it
off
of
me.

every lie
every tear
every cut
i cut for you
i wash with soap
stinging
blinding
but finally
leaving.

you tried to say that i was pretty
and i said i agreed with you
and i wasn't trying to be stuck up
i didn't care if you thought i was pretty
or not
i like me
and that's all that matters
to me
then you said
that sometimes you don't know if im being honest
or if im just giving you  
some "spiel"...
...i almost started kicking chairs over
right then
i don't have a ******* spiel
you ******* **** ******
you get lilred undiluted
115% of the time
then you asked me
if i came with a warning label
and i said
like **** i do
"harmful if swallowed"
"handle with care"
then you tried to say something nice
about my eyes
i told you to go to hell

god, i'm good with boys

hey listen
you're my bestfriend an all
but girl...
if that kid was my boyfriend
i'd punch him in the ***** so hard
he'd be sitting on his *** in the middle of next week
wondering what the ****
happened
you don't give people ultimatums like
"it's me or your dream"
i'd say *******
at least my dream's better
in bed,
you
tent-pitching
*******

i found the poetry site
my little 15 year old sister is on
i hate reading her poetry
because it reminds me
how wrongly
she sees
everything
today she wrote a poem
about last night
when i saw one of her paintings
i knew exactly what it was about
but said nothing
she lied to me
then in her poem
wrote me
like a filthy
angry
wrong
sister
who misunderstands
art
oh,
sister
if that is so,
you and i
are the same.

ben,
you make me wonder.

i wonder about your ex wife
and how you used to say ***** things to me
before you saw my face
and the innocence in it
you make me think about your kids
and how much you care about them
despite hiding behind a computer screen:
an important man on an unimportant online game

and after you stepped down from your role
when you realized online games are like real life only worse
you sat on facebook and played icon games
for three days

ben
i worry about you
i don't even ******* know you
but i hope you're ok.
it looks like all you did is transfer hidey-holes
...you've beat the icon game finally
what will you do now
why do you have to win everything
and is that why your divorce is killing you

sometimes i wish
i was one of Those Girls
with one of Those Bodies.

and i know that i'm
cute
and i
like me
i just
can't stop seeing
what model
attracts
i am ******
with sight

my tv
tells me
who to be
how to smile
how to be
and all the girls
that prance around
little *** toys
with insatiable hunger
and fake eyelashes
want to draw me in
so they can beat me
i am
pretty
but not
****
and ****
is what sells

i think love is a nice idea
in books
and
occasionally movies
but i do not
believe in it
i am too old.

i like those
kisses that sit on your lips
like 90's kids
on a parkbench

give me a tickle
trip
taste
of what it feels
to have your face
an inch from mine

i wonder if i would still like your nose
or your smile
or if you'd like
mine

it is
12:21am
but it feels like
nine in the afternoon
i am perplexed by the moon
unwound by the clock
hmm.

As soon as I get home
I take off all my clothes
Sit, and wait
To become me again.

Like a magic trick,
No...maybe a spell
The facade falls away
The fake expression melts
Off my face
And I am once again
Reality.

I like to be naked
To know that this is the purest form of me
I take off every greasy make-up mark
And re-embark
On the daily discovery
Of my essence.

I'll feel all the scars,
Revel in my imperfections
Bask in the failures
That society has so graciously informed me of.

I wish they knew
How much I love the ugly pieces of me
They are what keep me here
What remind me
Of reality.

As I put my clothes back on
In the morning, before class...
I practice in front of the mirror
Arranging my face
Into pleasing expressions
Trusting a piece of glass
To keep me safe.

But always, I live for the days
That I am hated
I live for the days

that I am naked.

i am glad that people want to help me
but they
put pills down me like a vending machine
and take a seat...
eagerly awaiting their
return-on-investment.

i suppose i could say a lot of mean things
about these people
who wait for me
to show a sign
of "getting better"...
but i am just like them
i sit in the corner of my mind
watching, waiting
for it to all subside
hitting my brain
the best i can
with shots of anesthesia
so those little pills
can operate
without
hurting
me

i am trying to erase
my childhood
the best that i can
but i guess
(and everyone else agrees)
we'd better call in
a better man.

you were a mother to me
when i didn't have one
now you have gone and done
what mothers do
you left me
i guess i expected it
same story
over and over
what do i do
to deserve this
i guess i'll try harder
to be a better daughter
but maybe it's not me....
maybe it's all of you.

if i can learn
neither to be alone
or to be with others
to play nicely
with the other children
by lack of mother's
teaching
(she never got along
with anyone)
what can i be?
i can make friends with
make believe
i can make friends with
the omnipresent dust
the whirling breeze
the freckle
on my shoulder
but i have made such good friends
with the empty
in me
and he has a bad case of
jealousy
...at least mother would be
proud

wine and
pistachios
(the expensive,
shelled ones)
at 6am.

one might say that
baby is refined
but baby is really
just an ugly drunk.

i'm not going to say it like you say it
i'm not going to mean it like you mean it
you will say it more often
and i will say it because i have to...
i wanted to wait to say it when i felt it
for once
but you you tricked me
and i am
angry

you're going 60 and i'm going 30
i'm still trying to figure out how not to be a **** victim
i'm still trying to figure out how not to let it happen again
and now
you love me
and i
am
no longer in control

when my dad cries he can't talk.
there's a pregnant silence while he whistles air through his pursed lips
trying to catch onto words.
a slight wheeze
a reoccurring clearing of the throat
as if this would distract you from what was happening -

when my dad cries
he can't talk;
he doesn't cry very often.
when i cry
all i do is talk

i am still my mother.