Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jul 2012 Clare Surette
Brycical
My mom says "frick"
or "fiddlesticks"
even when kids aren't around.
She's holding in
some of that pure, unfiltered rage
each time a plate is dropped
or toe is stubbed.
If only she'd just shout "OH ****!"
she wouldn't lash out
at grandma or sob uncontrollably later.

Someone once said to me, "*******!"
and I was happy.
It means they won't ****** me in my sleep
because they expressed verbal and not physical rage.
I was happier when someone told me "go **** yourself"
because I went home and did just that.

Speaking of pleasure,
the act of *******
burns between 85-250 calories,
improves sleep & your immune system.
Google it.

I've been ******;
a realization &/or learning experience
having gone broke without a way to pay rent
resulting in the lesson of moving back in with the parents.

We can get ****** up.
A couple too many tokes &/or shots of gin &/or punches to the face.
We learn the perils of excess.
In third grade, I was ****** up by a group of 6-7 kids.
I learned I never want to experience THAT
uncomfortable feeling again.

Why is **** such a bad word again?
Jonah asked me,
‘Thomas, do you wear sunglasses all the time because you don't have eyes?’
In my head I said ‘yes Jonah, you’re right!
I wear them because I don’t have eyes,
I hide behind mirrored glass because I’m scared of the world, Jonah.
I am terrified that maybe someone will understand me--
But I can't stop you, can I Jonah?’

Those words circled round and round in my head and heres what I did say:
I have eyes, Jonah, they’re blue.

In a dream I dreamed that I was Odin,
That I gouged out my eyes in exchange
For all the wisdom and understanding the world had to offer.
Jonah I have ******* holes for eyes,
Big empty spaces where every thing goes in and nothing comes out.
I have dark pools of disbelief and
Grown-up thoughts and
The pictures in my head have edges as if they were film
Instead of fog blurring edges with reality,
And all the caffeine coursing through my bloodstream
Cannot possibly give me the energy you have, Jonah.

Maybe I was Odin once, maybe I was a god--
But that was long ago and I grew up, jonah,
So, I don’t have eyes anymore,
But these blue-black-holes will watch you grow up,
And each year they will grow darker as you grow older,
Until finally I fade to nothing more than a name painted on a wall and
empty sunglasses staring out of the past--
Watching,
Wishing I had told you:
Don’t ever, ever give up your eyes, Jonah.
Butterfly, butterfly
Such a beautiful sight
I'm drawing all these butterflies
To save my own life
No more of the cutting
Nothing with the burns
I am done with tying nooses
My butterflies will save my world
I watch the airplane,
Thirty-thousand feet above,
Disappear
And reappear
Between the gentle folds
Of the 100-year-old glass
In my windowpane

A low angled light,
Shot from the distant sun,
Finds its way between my red curtains
And forces my thoughts to bloom.

Sometimes I think of what is in the world,
And then what's in it for me,
And the desire wrenches my heart.
And it hurts,
Oh God, it hurts.
Hurts so that I might cry out,
But I hold my tongue.

— The End —