Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.

"You're afraid of growing up."

Perhaps
but I see no shame in that
why would I ever want to grow up
if it means being
miserable
lonely
and drunk
like you,
Dad.
-

It was your birthday yesterday
You would have turned 19
I would have gone to your party
and we would have been drunk
girls would be kissing you
and you would be king
but we put you in the ground
two and a half years ago
-

It's kind of hard
to find a Mother's Day card
that is fitting for you,
Mommy dearest
So I wrote you my own:

"Thank you for never loving me
the way a mother is supposed to love
her darling daughter.
You taught me that I will never be
good enough
skinny enough
pretty enough
to make it in this world."
-

I've written and rewritten
my suicide note dozens of times
and I am still not satisfied
because I can not figure out how to
politely tell you that I want to die
but that it is in no way
anyone's fault
-

People ask me why I cut
People say "Why would you do that?"
I'm too young to be this sad
People don't understand
I cut for me, I cut for pain
Emotional pain makes me sick
It is unbearable and all-consuming
Emotional pain in which I wallow
Physical pain is easier
Physical pain is short term
It allows me to Focus
Focus on the thin red line
The drops of blood pooling
I don't have to think at all
Nothing comes into my brain
Nothing but pain signals
No remembrance of ****
Abandonment and abuse
Cutting is my escape, my salvation
I am full of so many demons
When I cut I bleed them out
Each drop of red is a tear I've cried
Many tears and many red droplets
Physical pain overcomes me
Wraps me up in a ****** up blanket
Cutting is my drug, my escape
I am given the chance to numb
The ache in my heart is released
Through the valleys in my arm
Valleys carved into my flesh
Released through the blood
Pooling on the bathroom floor
A puddle of pain and demons
This is a puddle of me, all the
*****, nasty, unlovable, *******
Then there is a moment of bliss
That moment when I numb
Like right before they put you to sleep
The numb feeling of emptiness
I don't think about the demons
The demons in my head, screaming
They are no longer in my brain
They are in the puddle on the floor
No longer inside of me
Gone for a moment but not forever
Pain always comes back
This is why I cut, to quiet the pain

You were one of those boys
Who I'd known since I was 4,
And who got confirmed in the
Christian faith
Six weeks ago.

One of those boys
Who joked around in class
In a way that made the tescher smile.

One of those boys
Who I was happy to have in my squad
For gym
Because I knew we would win
Team Handball.

He was a guy
Who was completely comfortable
If I referanced second grade,
Even if my memory
Embarrassed him.

Someone who was so happy
To go to highschool
And be on the football team,
And who had already made friends
With all the players.

And he was one of those boys
Who we all knew
Would be the one to score the winning goal.

I thought that he would always be there.
Because boys like Bennett Rill are rare.

You left
For England
Saturday
An it was raining when you left
An when you got back
It rained still.

And you were gone
For one week
Seven days.
Which is five school days
For me to squeeze through geometry
without you
(And
I
Can
Barely
Survive
With
You)

And Sarah asked
For a Union Jack
T-shirt
And told you
Not to forget.

And you brought it
For her
And
Got
Nothing
For
Me

But you told me
"You didn't ask
But if you want something
I'll get it for you
Next time.
I have to go back in
Six to eight weeks"

And I thought
You would have
Bought me something
Not as a
Souvenir
But
As
An
Apology

For leaving my alone
For a week
To live lonely

And yet
You'll go back
To England across the pond
In
Six
To
Eight
Weeks

Sometimes I doubt you're actually going to England.

Sometimes I forget I have a father.