I can’t be

a lot of things:

those leaves in the wind

allowing a breeze to control them,

the lonely cabin in a forgotten forest,

rotting from too much rain,

the broken shoots of grass

stepped and trampled on,

the complex words you use so regularly

unaware of their true meaning,

the transparent glass house

with shattered walls and rooms of stones ,

the men and women in suits

casually walking the streets, nameless and rushing,

all the product in your hair

hiding natural things and looking shiny,

full sheets of paper covered in notes

thrown away once the class is passed,

the ****** books and movies

so many people enjoy and converse about,

high noon when everything’s illuminated

and the shadows have disappeared,

the abbreviated words in meaningless text messages

answering questions in the shortest way possible,

the maddening silence when you sleep alone

with the street lights blaring through the blinds.

I can’t be simple.

I can’t be bright.

I can’t be whole.

I can’t be meaningless.

I can’t be alone.

I can’t be the same.

I can’t be okay.

I used to be unsure,

Did this and that to ‘find myself’.

I used to have changing feelings,

Happy now and again, and sad, too.

I used to try my best,

Get it all done, done well, then play.

I used to have boundaries,

Don’t touch me there; I’m not taking that.

I used to care what people thought,

Apologizing and laughing when appropriate.

I used to have interests and desires,

Be what I should, I want to know more.

**** that.

Now , I know what I am,

Monstrous and dangerously alone.

Now, I feel very little,

Usually numb or apathetic.

Now, I do what I feel okay with,

A little here and there, sometimes all.

Now, I can’t say no,

Do what you want, give me what you have.

Now, you can all go to hell,

Approval is overrated and I hate you anyway.

Now, I know what I want and need,

Give me a journal and a pen.

Give me cigarettes and coffee.

Give me *** and *****.

Give me an idea and a place to go.

Give me a story and somewhere to write.

Give me nothing.

It’s already there.

Not sick of winter,

I like my fingers numb.

Don’t care about appearances,

I like my hair wild and colorful.

Won’t do the work,

I like being free and untroubled.

Can’t say your name,

I like the silence and loneliness.

Shouldn’t quit smoking,

I like controlling my own death.

Wouldn’t stop drinking,

I like when people tolerate me.

Couldn’t be myself,

I like showing you this mask.

Mother told me to be brave.

Father told me he wouldn’t tell.

Sister told me to have fun.



Mother gave me food.

Father gave me money.

Sister gave me drugs.



Mother told me too much.

Father told me too little.

Sister shared her thoughts with me.



Mother screamed at me.

Father ignored me.

Sister blamed me.



Mother cried to me.

Father lied to me.

Sister left me.



Mother lost me.

Father never had me.

Sister is still finding me.



Mother invaded me.

Father destroyed me.

Sister scared me.



Mother was proud of me.

Father was proud of me.

Sister was proud of me.



Mother made me angry.

Father made me sad.

Sister made me laugh.



Mother hugged me.

Father kissed me.

Sister held me.



I wanted none of it, and all of it at once.

We have spectacular moments.

We have deep conversations.

I call her many names:

Smoking buddy.

Liquored up.

My sense of humor.

Opened up to.

Shared experience.

Peer pressure.

Free of judgement.

Acceptance and giggles.

Sobriety is not our Forte.

Challenge accepted.

I beat you.

Pass the jungle juice.

Spike the coffee.

Smoke a square.

Spark up that bowl.

We aren’t dull.

We aren’t complete.

We are dumb.

We are lost.

A version of myself.

A version of her.

She doesn’t always say ‘yes’.

But ‘no’ can be quite rare.

She knows some secrets.

She’s seen some scars.

Boundaries broken.

Nights of puking.

Open opinions.

Desired suggestions.

This is only the beginning.

of a co-dependent friendship.

Reminders and meanings,

I need them to keep me going.

The wrist was the most painful;

veins rattling,

blood drying and crumbling,

pale, thin flesh violated,

permanently blackened,

but a pretty font.

Simple but powerful.



It tells me not to be like Her.

It tells me not to be like Them.

It tells me not to be Afraid.

It tells me to say ‘Yes’.

It tells me I’m not actually Dead.



The shoulder is stained, too.

A life philosophy

in the words of a literary God.



It tells me what to expect.

It tells me to stay grounded.

It tells me to keep caution.

It tells me how the world works.

It tells me what I am.

Complex but honest.

I need a little fun in there.

Hidden away, but

don’t take myself too seriously.



It tells me of my childhood.

It tells me of my friends.

It tells me I’m a nerd.

It tells me I’m a kid.

It tells me to remember.

Symbolic but silly.