In the place my parents
Never wanted me to be
Never dreamed I’d be
Their perfect daughter
Off at college
Studying, of course
Even on weekends
In your frat house
In sweaty dark rooms
Lit only by black lights
With music blaring
So loud
You feel the bass in your
Not well covered chest
Solo cup in hand
Already feeling the room
Begin to spin

You’re the boy my parents
Never wanted me to meet
And the guy who would never
Have gone to my high school
And the one my friends
Would have hated
Back then
With the pierced lip
And tattoos
And smoking
And drinking
Getting handsy
And speaking fast, fluent Spanish
The later it gets
On a Friday night

You were everything they never wanted for me
And everything I needed you to be

you taught me how to slow dance
in the streets of spain
to the music of our friends
discussing football teams
with a group of boys from ireland,
and I taught you how to read
Shakespeare out loud without
stumbling over the words.
you quoted Neruda to me
over the dishes.
you took me to plant trees
in your grandfather's back yard,
I showed you how to make
a good martini,
and we talked about our childhood fears
and recurring dreams.
(no. we didn't. we never did
any of those things -- I remember
conversations with you
that I only ever had in my head
and fell in love with you over
fictitious memories. we never danced
together or watched the stars
or had *** in the backseat of your car.
I learned to slow dance in spain
from a boy whose name I can't remember,
I quoted Neruda to myself when I was drunk
and couldn't sleep,
I made memories with other people
and photoshopped you into them
because
it should have been you.
but who writes about that, right?
who writes about the ******* truth?)

Being
drunk
feels a lot
like
falling
down.

Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's  being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news,  printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.

beep

beep

i'm ringing up your items
answering your questions
and bagging your items

because the only way to be able to make it in life

is to be a slave for someone else

Please stop playing games
isn't my heart bruised enough?
have I not bled rivers
for you to bathe in?

“I am not a toy”
and when you twist the knife
I feel it

I need peace
and your song
keeps me swimming
to the deep end of despair

Please stop laughing
once you've made me cry
these tears taste like oceans
and I am more than ready
to drown in them

I'm that girl your parents warn you about.
the one who steals and smokes.
the one that sleeps with many men.
im that girl that no matter who it will hurt will drink and pop pills till she feels death arising.
And the only way ill find a way to love again is if it starts to snow in the hottest parts of hell.
My heart has been beaten and broken but this time all I got were the shakes.
I think I'm that girl your parents warned you about
because no one warned me.