i like video games because they open up their pixelated arms to me
and enfold me
they squish out anything that is too hard for me to think about
and drop me into something with a controller that i can hold
for once

i am an alien in their universe but they welcome me
assimilate me
drown out the bad feelings
the bad words
that you just said to me
i like video games because they make me feel safe
make me feel smart
important
successful
happy

some people think i am strange
and i am sorry
i don't really care
i am just here to feel better

"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."

never forget
that people aren't your friends
he wasn't your friend
she wasn't your friend
even you aren't your friend.
you can't trust people,
you can't trust him
you can't even trust yourself.
you must learn
to live without
everything
because everything
will ******* up
over
down
around

HEY YOU

...who?
me?

YEAH!
Zoom out for a second, *******.
While you're sitting there
Some sorry
Sob
Messed up
Girl
Who's so preoccupied
With every drift
In some idiot's mood
WILL YOU TAKE A FREAKING SECOND
And think about what you're doing?
Your GPA is probably off crying somewhere
In the fetal position
Stop worrying abou -

HEY YOU
YEAH YOU
WHEN DID YOU GET SO PISSY
yeah i'm wallowing in misery
but i'm only human!
i guess i shouldn't have
let him get to me
but he
is so sweet to me
when he wants to be...

Like I care!
You wanna be a failure
Forever?
You've been doing a great ******* job of it
For almost 20 years
Guess you don't wanna
Mess up your streak...

...well that was rude.
do you mind?
i can't help what's
on my mind
i really think i love this guy
just not the coward
he's shaping up to be
love should be anything but
cowardly...

FORGET ABOUT IT
Forget about him!
You don't have time for this!
See that great
Big
Ugly
Threatening
Thing over there?
Yeah, the one with the
Baseball bat
That's all the homework you've got
This weekend.
Stop being such a whiny ***
Pull it together.

alright!
alright!
i won't talk to him
tonight
i'll try
i will...
to get back on
track...

pick your lips up
arrange them into
a smile
draw ruby-red pictures
on your thighs
where no one can see them

it would be
wonderful
little sister
if you would explain to me
the inner most workings
of you and your
reality
that you have so carefully
painted
in your pictures
and in your face
you have always been
so good
at painting
i guess i shouldn't be
surprised
that you are also so good
at lying
little sister,
this is not my fault
and you
know it.

tied red ribbons
round my thighs
try to keep them
together

silver knives
paint pretty
red feathers

This morning
as i was washing you off my face
i realized something.

i was thinking about everything
everything we ever said to each other
every thing we've done
or haven't done
since mid-december
and i stumbled upon the startling fact
that the variable i have been allowing
to dictate my happiness for almost three solid months
is not 6'0,
no.
he
is
2 inches tall.

that our torpid relationship
which was mostly just
torpid
(considering it was always sometime after
3am)
was just this little piece of dust
i'd gotten up my nose
that tickled for a bit.

i don't mean to be rude
(well....maybe)
but as my mother used to say
to a particularly
stubborn loose tooth
a young, wiggly thing
that was causing more pain
than it was worth:
out
you
come.

i have nothing to say to you.
just let me
shoot you with this lovegun
i know it looks like a sawed-off shotgun
but it'll only hurt afterwards, i swear

i'm really not that fat.
but i put myself under a microscope
and the closer i look
the bigger i get
some nice girls gave it to me
and some nice boys lended me
the lens
i am a scientist
i study the anatomy
of lilred
who is apparently
not
so
little

fingers down my back
*** too fat
you like my thighs
and my lips
and my little quirks
i can be as silly as i want
and i love it
you're like him
without the abuse
am i allowed to say that?

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

don't try to hide it from me
i've already seen it
that's not yours
you took it
don't try to say i gave it to you,
i didn't
don't lie
confess
say that you took it from me
no, you cannot have it
not even if you admit
that you took it without permission
give it here.
right now
stop stalling
that is mine
it's not your plaything
i want it back
one
two...
if i get to three
you'll be in trouble
one...
two...

three.

well apparently
your facebook
has gone into mourning
glad to know you miss me
on the internet
lawrd,
you're tactful

take that small handful of light
that you found
on your afternoon walk
put it up in a corner
to brighten it
for a bit
hope that it will make you smile
every once in a while
when you feel wrong

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

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

feel the heat off his cheeks like a love poem
brown eyes beating down
sinking into mine with a definitive
bite.

he smiles while he interrupts our game
and i stare up, hands arranging tiles
astounded by the sheer kindness
of every tiny, comedic, unabashed piece of him.

he looks at me so much
laughs so much
yells my name
as i walk by, hands full.

i want to sit down and read those cheeks
like a book
my lips scanning every crest
kissing eyelids that bless me with that
brown, soft look
across a table.

he is so perfect
so similar to me
i can hardly believe
i get to look at him
hardly believe
i get to smile at him
in those other-world moments
between just he and i
so quietly
while everything else
rages
by.

baby got back.
baby got
sleeping problem
baby got
too-much-ice-cream-not-enough-vegetables-problem
baby got
bad case of the mean reds
baby got
curly hair problem
baby got
stepped-on-her-hair-straightener-problem
baby got
cat trouble
baby got
unattractive-boy problem
baby got
sore guitar fingers
baby got
too lazy to do laundry problem
baby got
smile-problem
baby got
elliot-problem
baby got
stress problem
baby got
anxiety problem
baby gonna
need help
they say
baby's in trouble
they say
baby needs a shovel
baby needs a backhoe
baby needs a drill
but baby's a girl,
so what baby really needs
is a man
to do the work

******* it.

i am a sucker
for the word
"sweetheart".

and you, darling
you say it so pretty
and your laugh
sets mine off
perfectly...
and if anything is worth anything
is not a laugh that harmonizes with your own
something worth
going after?

you are too old for me
thirty three
is quite a long ways
from
twenty
but baby...
call me
sweetheart
one more time
and you can take me
to the bank.

composed entirely of
the simple seduction
of contradictions
i play a fine balancing game.

good vs. evil
happy vs. sad
fine vs. im fine
alive vs. dead
dad vs. mom
sassy vs. mom
sassy vs. the shitshow
sassy vs. hatred

spoiler alert
right wins.

i am wearing a purple hat
that someone crocheted
and i don't know where the **** it came from
i found it on the floor
of my bedroom
but i feel like jo
from little women
so basically like a badass *******
don't bother me
i've got an amy to take care of
...*****

side by side boxes
with little bleeding words
my blood smeared on one
the other yet to be graced
tonight is a good night
for him to be
baptized
i wish it wasn't in my
blood
with this
knife

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

slip into the numb embrace
of the little white pill
that puts your brain to sleep.

littlered is so bent
a bicycle doctor couldn't figure her out.

sliding into bathwater
is nice
until your
head goes under
and you never
come
back
up

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 ****

oh god.
i've turned into some
smelly ***
****** hobo
arguing with himself
over stale cans of beer
contemplating
society
love
yknow
...beer
i really need to get a grip...
and a shower.

i need to stop thinking.

i know if i think too much
by myself
i will end up sitting on my bed
drawing pictures on my arms
with a knife
and they tell me
not to do that

i have never been good at listening

i expected everyone to **** me over
except you
one down
7 billion to go

thanks.

finally wrote a poem about me that is nice.
was nice...
will be nice -  
when you stop pitying me.

one nice poem out of
many, many hateful
poems.

you write more flowery than me
maybe even better
i feel that i should struggle with that
be angry with you
my little
sister
taking one more thing that is mine and making it yours

it is ok.
if it makes you happy, makes you feel better, makes you smile, makes you feel accomplished, makes you feel smart, and
ok,
then
it is
ok.
it is even
good. maybe you even need it more than i do.

maybe i don't even need it anymore.
i don't know what i need.
i don't know where my reason went.
i just know that if you are happy,
no matter how disillusioned you are in your happiness,
it is
o
k.

ARE YOU
ANY BETTER
THAN HIM

ARE YOU NOT GUILTY
OF SIMILAR SINS

why does he now repulse me so?
we are the same.

there is something ugly about the way you refuse to look at me
something pathetic and guilty and pious.

you refuse to look at me like i'm something you've never seen before
some hideous insect you found under a rock that surprised you
not like you were actually the first person to see me
the first to touch me
the one that carried me in the embrace of your stomach for nine months

the nine months that you took care of me
perfectly.

only because your body did it
naturally
once dispelled
i was on my own.

i am a wild, tearing black hole without you
stumbling over words
listlessly letting the ceiling absorb me.

with you i am whole,
but so full of hate
that i feel it rising up
springing from my tongue
filling in my eyes
blackening my cheeks.

there is no win-win for me.
destruction and burning agony either way.
i do not understand
why i need you so...
you who ***** so much more
than just my body.

today
instead of
feeling better
feeling prettier
feeling less like
a *******
when i drew
black lines
across my eyes
i felt
disconnected.
the lengthening curves
did not flatter me
they made me
hollow
hungry
old.
electrical tape
holding together
burned out fuses
they carved me out
left me
for dead
all i wanted
was some help
all i got
was a reminder
of my impending
futility
my impending dissatisfaction
i always top off
too quickly
i'll need something else
to make me feel better
soon.

said i love you back because
"third time's a charm"
is a black magic spell too strong for me
couldn't properly deflect it.

i remember being scared that my father would discover i cut myself.
i remember the day that he did.
trying to cram the screaming baby into his highchair dad saw the mark on my arm and i told him
it was from a marker
he demanded to see it again
and so dad found out that sometimes praying isn't enough.

i don't remember being afraid that dad would find out about the things moose did to me
...i guess i can't say that
i guess i have to say the things we did together
(but i will always lay the blame at his feet
for beginning things
that first night.)
even now, i am not afraid
even now when i truly believe that dad knows what happened
even now when dad gently pats me before he goes up to bed
and says don't forget
to
repent
i am not afraid.
i am ashamed.

i like these
sleeping pills
they actually force me
to close my eyes
i wonder why
i can't ever sleep
really
i am
very
tired
of everything

lost everything in one year.

it's alright, im used to it.
lost everything before,
will lose everything again,
most likely.

not a sacred bone
left in me
a desecrated temple
a ravaged flower
a broken urn.
nothing left to fill
nothing left to taste
sawdust,
luke warm water
in his mouth
he will spit me
out.

you try to say that i act like a ***** when i don't get my way
but you act like a ***** when you do.

...i'm not sure which is worse

if you
give me a chance to rephrase it
change it
back down
i won't take it
i say what i mean
and i mean what i say
and yes, if you want me to say it again
i will say it louder
so you won't miss it
this time
i said this won't happen again
stop giving me second chances
like you're being merciful or some ****
i will say it
until you get it

**this won't happen
again.

maybe it would have hurt if you said goodbye.
as is, i feel a hollowness but nothing more.
no need to pursue
no need to frantically call you
text you
message you
beg you
i have no need
no need
no need
please
please
please
let me let me
let me
get what i want this time

bloodstains are pretty
like flowers for people who are sad
or stars for people who are too in love
or little redheaded girls
who are too afraid

the kids
that you didn't know existed
all winter
have been jail-sprung
they litter the sidewalk
like snowdrops
riding miniature bikes
with training wheels
zipping up and down
the street
in their
shirtsleeves
the easter bunny
coaxed them out
into the park
to search for treats
but they decided to stay

can't read my own poetry anymore
because after about a century we lost the ability to navigate by the stars
all just meaningless figures
lights in the sky diluted by a blue light system that didn't save me.

find new faces to trickle through your dreams at night
better yet,
dispel them all

boys will be boys
and i want nothing of it.

still wear your shorts to bed sometimes
******* the hole in the side.
i don't connect them with you anymore
except for the few times i catch myself in the mirror
and remember staring at myself in your sliding doors
wondering when i would be brave enough to get away from you.

the pain is dull
like all the white ridges on my arms and thighs
but the boy in shakespeare class
wears your cologne
and monday, wednesday, friday
every breath i breathe in class
is
frightened.

break ups do **** a little
it's mostly the silence that gets to me
i like having someone to tell all the funny little things that i think of
during the day
my phone is very quiet without you
no musical little bleeps or blinking lights

but i can take the silence this time around.
and for that i like it
even relish it
the long gaps between my replies to you
if i reply at all

this time i am powerful
it is nice
but it is also frightening