Well, we were the History club rejects,
focusing on the effects
of being us
instead of in a book.

Two college drop-outs,
calling in shout-outs
to our friends,
hoping that it affected
how we looked.

Our dads would sleep in,
and our moms were crying
until a quarter past noon --
and we knew
if we didn't start trying,
that would be us, soon.

We were the starving artists,
painting fruit we couldn't afford.
Hoping each brushstroke of an artichoke
would be fruitful to our wallet,
or at least strike a chord.

Two love-loss orphans,
dreaming of morphing
into something or someone else.
But they told us
to remove that fluff
from our head
and put it on the shelves.

We were the film club fanatics,
studying the dynamics
of how to be a pretend person.
We wanted to be
a Wes Anderson flick,
but we were never any thing
other than who we were
and that's what made us sick.

And I swear I miss the desperation:
I'm nostalgic for yesterday's conversations.

today I did not think about him
It is the first time in an entire year that I haven't
I don't realize this until tomorrow
but it is an accomplishment nonetheless

today I went to lunch, did laundry, drove to the gym
I didn't see his shadow in my rear view mirror
It is the first time during a commute where I don't feel the overwhelming urge to pull over
often the speed of the traffic mixed with the acceleration of my thoughts guides me to the side of the road
anxiety blowing loudly through the vents into my open mouth until I am too tired to focus-
today is the first time that didn't happen

last week I googled "therapists near me"
I settled on a woman with a nice smile and a specialty for trauma
This is the first time I find myself familiar with that word
almost comfortable like a distant family member I am just now recognizing
trauma is something with one definition but too many faces
for the past eight months I have been wearing his

on monday I spend an hour in the office of a stranger
she asks me why I'm here and I respond with I don't know but
my answer is as dishonest as my avoidance is expanding
she asks me how I am and I almost forget that I didn't come all this way to say fine
for a moment I almost forget that I am not.

I tell her about him without trying
I don't say his name
or the details I remember with more clarity each day that goes by
she says memories are really only what we remember each time we remember them
I think it's funny how I remember more every time I do
how sometimes laying in bed becomes catalyst to chest pain
I can still feel him kneeling on top of mine
pressing body into cracked ribs into spit on my neck
I can hear his humming of a song they play too often on the radio
there is no trigger warning for the reminders life has to offer
I find them everywhere without trying

she understands as much as I want her to
she says it's really about power
I say I know
she asks if I feel like I lost some kind of control
I say yes
I don't tell her that I have spent countless hours trying to find it
in bodies that aren't my own
digging nails into muscle and mattress trying to pull out some semblance of who I used to be
For too long I have covered up with a bandage
I am just now ripping it off for the first time
this pain is a sort of cleansing
I took three showers after he left but it is only today that I feel his remnants washed off my skin
I can't help but wonder if this is what Pinocchio felt the first time he was honest with his demons

today I did not think about him
yesterday I did not think about him
the day before I only thought about myself and pizza and myself again
there is very real possibility that my mind could figure out a way to bring back the unwanted
that tomorrow could be another way to remember
but today I didn't
I went to lunch, did laundry, drove to the gym
I made it home without incident
not perfect,
but it is an accomplishment
nonetheless

All the happy songs are just making me sadder these days
Cause somewhere down inside of me
Something way too deep, and out of sight
Needs to be pulled out
And I'm getting a stronger feeling everyday
That I can't do that alone
So darling won't you throw me a bone
Didn't ever want it to come down to dog fetch

And all these feelings come to me quite random
Cause I'm not the pilot of my mind
But I can hear him and he's going down
Mayday I can hear him breaking sound

And I'm feeling like I'm gonna die someday,
Soon
And I'm feeling like a fool
When I see you walking by and I let you go
I don't even know who you are
But you are a euphemism for me
Because pessimism isn't just in my head

This isn't a drill
The bomb is real
And I've been tucking my head in between my knees
This isn't a drill, I need
You

Where'd you find those eyes, doll
All your needles, all your dyes
Why'd you make me fall
Where'd you learn all that voodoo juju

Impromptu impromptress who are you trying to impress
Cause there's a million guys who'd like to get under your dress
They forget you're the ventriloquist
And I'm SOL when you make everything yours
Like you always do, like you're so good at
I don't bat an eye, you're the inquisitress
And I'm ******* Johnny Defenseless in your inquiry imprisonment

I feel pins entering my skin everytime I'm around you
Acupuncture queen bee, your needles might get on my nerves
But most of the time they relieve me

And I'm here, and I'm waiting
And I feel a little blind when I can't see what I want to be seeing
I'm a little flawed, I struggle with just being
You're written in a different language, and while that might be deceiving
I hear you're a good read, and I'm getting a little greedy

Everywhere I see people protesting beliefs
We see no pockets but yet we know they are thieves
They ask where the flowers have gone
But they are the ones holding a flag in front of the sun
We have seen this before, the news shows us bombs and guns

But maybe if we could speak other languages we could hear the news from their fathers and sons, and mother's and daughters lungs
An air they speak that we have not breathed before, unbiased, unscathed from the media and their **** lobbyists
It is a suffocation like no pain or sore
When blue skies are scary and metal birds only fly straight
What building would you collapse to escape this fate?

Education is nothing if you learn from one room
Or one language, or walk in just one pair of shoes

No, we must know what we know not and be who we aren't
When we haven't one idea of what it is to be a whole, but just one part
Yes, we're different but we can learn that we aren't
Just give it a chance, that's a pretty **** good start

And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.

Her ribs crackled, in the skeleton night.
And I remember my mouth on hers,
where atomic fish hooks attached our lips.
Where there was nothing like kissing
like our God wasn't dead.

She was accused of killing a taxi driver
in the Brazilian underbelly.
Smoking a cigarette, she dropped it on the ground,
spat on it, and crushed it with her bare foot,
saying she fell in love with the way
his sleep-drenched body lay.

And I told her to stay home.
And I told her that they'd find her.
But she didn't stay home.
And they did find her.

Chasing her through the Babylon brush,
insults were thrown and so were balloons of gasoline.
Each pink, yellow, and green vessel floated in the air, as an internal opera heightened.
And sour splashes spread across her body,
as she fled from the vigilante mob.

The children danced along the panoramic horizon she ran beside,
laughing, pointing, singing.
The slumbering sorrow of the situation became evident,
and she started to feel the calm of fleeting life.

Her dreams aborted and her ideals became fallacies,
and with the sound of fuzzy motors in the background, her heart leapt and her feet slipped.

Rope ate into her, wrapping her like the orphaned recklessness of each set of eyes that painted her.
She squirmed amongst the cheers.
She cried with every thrown beer and balloon.
The empty-eyed males gang ***** her.
The women covered the children's eyes,
and the children tried to move their mothers' hands.

And I pushed my way through the crowd.
And I saw her smothered in blood, beer, and gasoline.
I wanted to halt the hurricane that destroyed morality.
But I am a coward.
Frozen by my fear, I, too, am a murderer.
And a murderer I'll always be,
for the burning of all that was good.

Sudden flames soared towards the sky.
Laughter escaped as molotov cocktails exploded onto her body.
Her head turned towards the crowd,
as flames scampered across her face.
I saw in her, what I never saw before,
which was the human race.