i swear these
drum beats
are the only thing
keeping my heart going

and i would run
through the rain tonight
if i thought the cars that go
around the corners too fast
really would never see
a thing

apathy
my friends
is a dangerous game
that i was never
made to play
but i was given
too sharp a lot in life
to avoid it completely

call me a terrible liar
but if you think i'm so
bad at hiding the truth
i guess you'd never know
if i suddenly
got good at it

if i thought it would
do me any good
i would jump out
the window and run

but it wouldn't do any
good when i keep finding
myself too tired to even
turn off the lights.

i swallowed the
bathroom mirror whole
threw an entire bag
of lemon drops
into the highway and
danced on someone else's grave
in a failed attempt at
self-acceptance.

it's hard
to shatter the
saccharine sweet
taste of personal hate
sticking to my hands
like half melted wax.

i've almost
given myself permission
to fail
but not yet.

hasn't it been
stovetop memories
a couple haircuts
and one hell of a year?

scratch the back of my
neck
in a halfhearted attempt
to forget
and i'll take up burning
aluminum pillows
like i took up
loving myself.

sometimes you
just can't buy
your favorite cheese.

(seems simple enough)

yet all things
are veiled
under layer upon layer
of decision.

made myself
instant today
mixed it with
coco powder
pretended that i
enjoyed drinking it

the truth is
i just can't stand the sight
of the stains in those
matching mugs
white interiors
cracked

five pm
and i'm stone cold
decaf
lonely
from the
hot water
because i gave up
on flavor

it must be nice to be
british
assuming there are less
negative emotions
associated with a bad
cup of tea.

It's eating me alive
What I think but never say
It's killing me inside
All the words I keep
Confined in one notebook
Pray that they never escape
That page and stop scraping
Their claws in my brain.

I don't hate
Showers
I hate who I find
Myself to be
When I'm that
Alone
No distractions
Just my own
Twisted mental
Interactions.

And it's not the music
That makes me sad
Because I keep switching
Genres like a genuine
Shuffle button ****
But I've come to the conclusion
That it's some kind of thermal
Curtain messing with the
Natural lighting
In my brain.

And what I want you to know
Is simple
But I won't ever tell you
Because I am not
That girl anymore
Unless of course
You're keeping up
With what's going on
Between the blue lines
And stale sheets
I sleep in every
Dark afternoon.

And sometimes it hurts
Too much for words
So I don't even
Try
Just hit that shuffle button
And pretend that the music
On the other end of these
Headphones
Can actually
Change what's in my chest cavity
Cover up what's
Lying dead and rotting
In the center of everything
I've ever felt.

But let's cut the
Metaphors and get back
To this hot glass reality
Pulled straight from
The dishwasher
After four hours
And nineteen minutes
Of steam.

I remember the moment
Exactly
I was standing with the faux oak
Cupboard doors open
And blocking the
Sunlight I so avoid
And I was thinking about
The week old sermon
Still rattling around
The shelves of my
Misplaced
Thought processes.

And then
Suddenly
After years of confusion
All the pieces snapped
Into the picture of
My epiphany
And it hit me
Hard
Too hard
Why.

I'm always wondering
Why
But sometimes wondering is easier
Than why
And not knowing is better
Than why.

So I turned around and
Changed the song
But nothing is drowning this out
Nothing is stopping
The words bleeding from
My torn nailbeds
Or changing what I keep
In the cracks of my knuckles.

The preschoolers
Are perfectly
Lined up
All of them
Staring at me
Fear widening their eyes.

I'm just the
Ticket girl
Passing on their
Papers
Before they step through
The gate.

And I've been there
Too
Scared and
Alone
Reduced to a name and
Barcode
Rushed along by
Those taller than me.

The only difference
Between you and me
Is that I'm too
Old to cry.

But I can
Guarantee that in
Fourteen years
You will be
Just like me and
Your tiny
Hands will have
Painted nails and a
Clipboard
Clicking your pen
Counting the
Blonde heads
At your feet.

You'll be
A different barcode
And you'll be the
Ticket girl instead of me.

And when you get home
And your stud earrings
Have been removed
Will you still be
Nothing more than a
Slip of paper
The water vapor that clings
To the windows?

The same
Ticket girl
Hesitating
At the gate?

You and I
We're both the same
Thinking today
Might change everything
We must be somewhere
Now
And we've
Stalled
Hit a cleanly painted
White wall
And hidden ourselves
From stepping out.

From barcodes we come
To barcodes we return
Whether or not
We're tall
Enough to be the
Ticket girl.