Most girls my age
Make a wish at 11:11.
They wish for Prince Charming
Or to travel to romantic places
And they look for good and happiness.
But I, on the other hand,
Used to wish for the bad and scary –
That is, if I thought a wish was worth it at all.
I used to wish for cancer, or a crashed car
Anything that would make those with experience
Hate my very existence
Almost as much as I did.
11:11 meant a time for tears –
Because I was someone who didn’t care,
Someone who didn’t want a future –
What would I wish for?
A slow, painful death at times
A quick, painless one at others.
Everything around me was gone at 11:11 –
Family and friends and love and future –
My surroundings were a fuzzy white screen,
A television without signal,
With no goal, or hope even, for repair.
It is 11:11 once again,
And though I’ve been “fixed,”
I haven’t taken help in days,
Avoided my chemical necessities.
I don’t want any repair, readjustments
Or the liberation of love and romance.
The only thoughts running through my head
Are jumbled and insane,
As I rack my brain for a new wish,
But I realize I am too late;
It is now 11:12, and slowly I remember
I just made the same wish as before.

"ehem"
we all hear it
the voice of the once-feeble boy
whom we always assumed would
end up in some shabby office job
typing away schedules and making spreadsheets
avoiding fellow humans and drinking coffee– black

the voice that seemed so small to us then
now seems impossibilly loud–
ridiculously honest, and tragically sad

and no trace of anger or shame
or anything that bears resemblance to
the last picture of the boy
you carry in your minds

important people, marked by name-tags
and good posture–
nice suits
surround him

it's all very intimidating
all of you hoping
he makes no mention
of you, or you, or you

and the wait, for him to speak
is nerve-wracking and
feels remarkably long
with people tapping their feet
impatiently, and readjusting their ties

until finally he clears his voice once more
and addresses the crowd
the audience exchanges expressions
of amazement, wonder

his voice is strong and reaches you
though you're hiding in the very last row
and you can't bear to meet his eyes
or return his flashy smile

he makes a speech
and you settle into your seat
as you forget your own presence

all seems well
until
he stops mid-word
and meets your stare

and

all of a sudden it's 1979 again
and you're back in that playground
and you have a bat in your hand
and he has fear in his eyes
and he's crying
and begging you to let go
but something in you snaps
and you hit him
right across the nose
before you could stop– and then you sprint

it sinks in when you're halfway home
and you stop and hesitate
feel the guilt
but shrug it off
and walk the rest of the way back

the roles are reversed now
and he is clearly the bigger man
and you are small, and weak
and petty

a playground bully is your only claim to fame
while he is the president of this ******* country.

he starts again
and you feel worse than you would had he
given you the punishment you deserved

nope, this boy ain't angry- or ashamed,
only hurt, and blatantly sad.
so, so sad.

driven to the brink of madness
       to the edge of insanity
            standing on the corner
                 bracing for the fall

push me dear stranger
      give me what i deserve
         you don't know what i've done
               you don't know what i've learned

come on old pal
      laugh in my face
       tell me what you've told me
          time and time again

hey little fella
      show me a smile
         i'm holding still for you
             but only for a while

oh momma oh poppa
       don't you frown
           this is so hard for me
             but i've already let you down

faux friends, faux friends
       where are you now
           you saw this coming
              no need to ask how

*i'm not dying
     i'm just going away.
a bird migrating for the winter-
        but indefinitely,
             to-stay.

you have a bathtub for a bed
    hairbrush as a mic
no roof over your head
    go everywhere on your bike

wall for a friend
     stone for a sole
running water is merely Godsend
      being materialistic was never your goal

i offered you money
                          love
                            ­ companionship
but those offers fell to the floor

"i ain't no charity,"
and you were already out the door.

help me
   fix me
make me small

fit me
   close me
in a knee-tight ball

kick me
   punch me
till i'm pink

slap me
   throw me
i might shrink

hug me
   love me
   scare the bad

cure me
   **** me
end the sad

weigh me
    measure me
tell me a lie

either way
    i'm going to die

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon