the stitches in my thigh are
healing so now we can all shake hands
and watch the money
poor in. the bombs are not coming,
please come out from
under your desks, you are safe
now and if im being honest
the desks wouldn’t protect you
from the shrieks of a
war plane. they sound
like nothing you’ve
ever heard
a frequency you unlocked
just for this
particular pain. you can almost see
the sound pour into your ear drums
like a bartender mixing
the ***** and the cranberry.
it sounds like 6am
it sounds like the same song
over and over.

whoever said
that too much
of a good thing
isnt
a good thing,

clearly hasnt
spent enough
time
without one

i could really
go for too much
of a
good thing
right about now.

i wish i had no face.
that way i could always have an excuse.

hey do you want to come out with us? were going to get some drinks.

"no i cant, sorry" ill say, gesturing knowingly towards the ether where my eyes, nose and mouth should be.

its the perfect alibi.
ill stand out so much
i might actually fit in.
sure it may take awhile
but people always adjust to things
even the abnormal
even if what they have to adjust to is technically nothing.
just skin over bone, no expression or words.

instead i just feel like an actor
like another life form.
like everyone can see it but me.

im too afraid to admit
that i have no one else to blame.

i wish i had no face

i pay with my skin to sit in this vulture nest.
i pay with my ears to hear these empty dreams
i pay with my time to throw it out on the sidewalk.
from the top floor of the pharmacy
where i learn how to write
from a writer who never made it.
blind leading the blind?
more like
the undead reviving the unborn.
theres no life here.

i am riddled with flaws
an oxymoron with legs
every word, and every fibre
contradicting
weaving through
every muscle,
every thought,
every emotion.

but through all the fat
a seed of belief
a sprout of confidence
untamed and unleashed.
a tiny tree in my brain
grew thirsty lips
and a big head.
writes a scripture with my name on it
fits a crown for my skull.
i have no choice but to listen
no one else wants to talk.

i can't wait until i fit into these boots.
my ankles sprouting forward, into adulthood.
it never occurred to me
that i might have to buy my daughter a pet
so she can watch it die.
there's nothing scarier in this world
than falling in love with anything you know wont last.
the hardest lessons are the ones
we know we have to teach ourselves.
i dont know how to thank you lord
because i dont know if youre there.

i can smell
the liquor
through the phone
while
you
rip
up
all the stitches
you scrambled
to
sew
together.

i don't know why
i keep
wasting
my time.
on these
careless
pursuits.

i cant
tell who
is supposed
to win.

no mountain too high they said
i rip the wood from the trees,
to build the road to Juneau
and bathe in the endorphin river

dry my ankles
and let them breathe the cold air
so the people know
im just a nobody

break my hands
to feel my legs again

break me down
so i can love again

I found my old journal.
I didn't write in it a lot,
Only when I could think to do it.
Only when it felt necessary.
So I wrote about a lot of the same things.
Heartbreak mostly.
A 9th grader so terribly in love
Again.

Everything is remarkably depressing
At that age.
Or so my journal would have you believe.

Here are some excerpts I found noteworthy

November 19th, 2014.

"I just hope she finally decides my head is no safe resting place for any kind of love."

December 16th, 2014.

"I feel like death, and all I want is for her to hold my dead body until I feel like breathing again."



Heavy,
I know.


Believe me,
I know.



I'd be dishonest if I didn't mention
That there are a lot more of those.
And I'd be dishonest if I didn't mention
That I'm best friends with that girl now.
I laughed when I read these.
The pain read so real
Yet I don't remember what it feels like
To miss her like that.

Then I found another passage
From a year ago.
A riper wound.

September 23rd, 2016. (The day I found out she didn't love me, and might be dating my older, douchier cousin)

"I cried for the first time in awhile, but it doesn't feel as good as I remember."

And then I realize
I've been watching the same Ferris wheel
Go around
My whole life,
Just with different people
Playing the same role.
And it all feels the same.

If love was for sale
I'd empty my pockets.

I still pick the scab.
I'm still the same kid.

Give me a dollar
And I'll make something of it.
Give me your time
And I'll waste it.

Staring down the red pill and the blue pill.
Trying to decide between nothing and everything.
Making sure the Dread Pirate Roberts doesn't drink his own poison.

There is no hand I would least rather die at
Than my own.

I'm tripping the breaker.
Soaking in the burn of the wires,
Tracing the line back to an old fuse box
With a broken switch
And a battered shell.
Grey with ambiguity and boredom
Seeping productivity like an oil spill,
Diluting the green.

Twenty one centuries.
And some pocket change
Just so we can all act
Like the pressure was worth the diamond.