always wanted a part
in a film
so I asked a director if he'd give me a break
and the director told me: "Break a leg"
and I thought he'd meant me to get
experience for a disaster movie
(sort of Stanislavsky's method acting)
so I did

but I never got a part;
the director just laughed and waved me away -
but at least I was in the cast for weeks

if i drowned myself
somebody would ****** their hand into my bowl of fruit loops and pull my face up

if i jumped off a building
somebody would put pillows on the carpet to soften the fall

if i put a (glue)gun to my temple
somebody would snap a picture with the caption "idiot pastes her hand to her forehead"

if i ate poison
somebody would rush to my side and ban me from eating fast food ever again

if i committed a fashion faux pas
my best friend would tell me to change my outfit

but if i pulled a trigger on an entire country
the world would go silent
just to watch

I drove your mind into a river
Parked your dreams on the sand
You clutched at my body but I threw you out of gear
Rolled down your eyelids and your heart played static
Over the line I heard the radio chatter
"He's gone," they voiced
Exhaust fumes suffocated your family
As they choked out their goodbyes
Your console had filled with water
Muffled your drowning cries
And in those last moments your clock said
6:43
Funny, it almost looks like
B, Y E

Acorns keep coming loose from the tree outside and
I imagine they are being pelted at all the metal chairs on purpose
Like tiny bullets ricocheting off of bunkers, startling me awake
Oh yes, my friends
The squirrels are busy staging a happy little revolution

My prayer every evening is that I will become excellent at something
Because my outlet can, at times, stutter and fail
I like to write, and I like to think
And sometimes I despise doing both
Because it's impossible to quit thinking
I refuse to turn to drugs to drown out my mind
I will not own more crutches than I already have
My biggest fear is losing control,
So why would I give some other source the option?
Ah, and so I end up writing
It is terribly cathartic and atrociously raw
I pour out my insides and then have this erratic fear
That I have shared too much, too soon
It's like once you post something,
That mental thing becomes true and concrete
I am petrified of the concrete.
But.. I guess I'm also thankful to be alive
Concrete evidence would show I'm still here
-Something- is still here
Strange, but every once in a while I need that reminder
So I keep writing.
I'm still here.