why do people act the way they do
honestly i can't understand it
but then again i don't even know why i do the things i do
i think i'm thoughtful when i'm alone with pen and paper
and i think i'm artistic when i put paint on a canvas
spending all of my time and money into trying to become myself
when i thought i already was

why does she get angry at me
i don't get it, what have i done wrong
probably a lot of things
i did tell her i hate her when i was twelve,
even though i wrote her a letter and drew her a picture
and apologized every day for the rest of my life
i guess i'll never know why she yells at me

and why does he not like me
i thought he was supposed to since he fathered me
but i guess if one isn't around enough
a bond is never created
maybe that's why i wasn't worth anything,
and he didn't mind pushing me out of the house to make room
for the new woman in his life
i suppose i'll always come last on his list of priorities but i don't mind
but i do wish i had a father

and why weren't he and i born closer
instead of being five years apart
maybe we would have been best friends and
helped each other with homework and relationship problems
i could have seen the warning signs
and he could have seen the ones for me, and maybe
then our hearts wouldn't have so much wear - and - tear

in younger years
i remember trying so hard
to gain the affection of the opposite ***
and i'm not really sure why because well

in middle school there was this girl
named dezarae and everyone loved her
because she was thin and wore make up
and her hair was always nice
just like her clothes that accentuated her
blossoming *******

i think there was a boy named kyle
or something similar to that
i'm not sure anymore
but he was always around her
as well as me
since i guess dezarae considered me her best friend
and at first i liked kyle
but then i liked her

it was around that time that
i met this other girl named amber
who wore glasses and had long hair
that didn't always look nice
and her clothes weren't the best
just like her teeth
but i remember she was as thin as a twig
and just as flatchested as i was

we became the best of friends
and i felt equal in her company
my feelings for her grew
when we would spend friday nights together
at each others house
depending on what week it was

but i remember her and i speaking one day
gossiping about everyone at school
like dezarae and i don't know why
but i lied when amber asked me
"well i heard dezarae was bisexual
she likes girls and boys
isn't that disgusting?"
i replied with
"oh gosh what
that is just
so gross"

i was so confused
why was it so wrong
to like someone who was just the same
as you are
because i liked amber
in a way that i should have liked a boy.

bjorn sits and lies about
mostly on his back
sometimes on his side
usually all wrapped up

i've noticed that i talk about myself a lot
when i write and i wonder if that means i'm self-involved
or selfish or something that starts with self
because i hope i'm not or i'll feel quite awful about myself
but there i go again
with those self words.

i used to cut my thighs
all the time
it started my junior year
and it was my secret

in forced intimacy
this other boy saw them
and in response he slapped them
making them burn with fury
he left and didn't speak to me
instead, he sat at his computer
like he always does
and blogged about it
while i sat alone in the basement
in choking sobs.

i have no internet
and i'm at the house
of the child i babysit
except he's not a child
he's sixteen
and i have no idea why i babysit him
except that i get paid well
and he's in a wheelchair
so i basically do nothing
the whole entire time.

this one time
when i was a kid
probably five or four
and i still lived in california
my mom took my brother and i
to meet some kittens

that was when i learned i was allergic
and that i couldn't touch my eyes
or rub my face into kittens fur
unless i wanted to end up
sniveling with red swelled eyes
and scratching endlessly at my skin
where their sharp claws innocently landed

my neighbor
when i first moved to kansas
had a cat i think
i'm not sure my memory is fuzzy
i think i was eight
but it was such a loveable cat
until it clawed up my back
and mom had to clean with
something that burned
to lessen the swelling

but i love cats
i really do
if i had to pick a dog or a kitten
i would certainly pick both
because i honestly couldn't pick

now at nineteen
i have my own loveable cat
all white and gorgeous
so soft like a blanket
and cuddly like a puppy
his eyes different, a gold and a blue
he's the best thing

sometimes it sneaks up on me
like a dark shadow
a mist that shrouds me
trying to protect
but doing the opposite.

ever since it
crept into my life
i have had the hardest time
getting rid of it.

the sobbing does nothing
to help and the one thing
that does i cannot do
in fear of upsetting him.

when i am alone
with my thoughts
they finger my insides
pulling plugs
and implanting
awful ideas.

all alone
i am scared of myself
of what i might do
because i can sneak through
the apartment
bottle of aspirin in hand.

the only thing
that keeps me holding on
is the idea of a better tomorrow

i used to write such
pretty words

where have they
all gone?

i cannot write anything
it's all in my head
and i can see it but
it won't come out

no matter how hard i push
my mind is constipated
and laxatives aren't helping
i'm not sure what to do

i can write ******* and
tell myself that's good enough
but it's not and it's so
******* frustrating

and depressing how
unhappy i am with my creative self
i am not creating enough
and i feel stagnant and stuck
no matter how much **** i use
my mind is still a dry desert
and it's painful to keep trying

i prefer to brush my teeth
to the point where my gums bleed
and pull the floss down hard
between my pearly whites,
grinding the thread back and forth.

i get chills down my back
when i get a papercut
and i can see the blood
slowly come out in little round *****,
or when i rip a hangnail down my thumb
and i can see the fresh layer of skin.

my body goes numb
and my mind draws a blank
when he bites at my neck,
even better when it leaves a bruise.

the feeling i get
when his hand suddenly meets
the bare skin of my lower body
is pure ecstacy, i could only imagine
what it would be like
if my brain was on a high.

the sting and the should-be negative,
or unwanted, emotions
are what i strive for in life.
i like the feel
of the pain
but not when i'm alone.

in high school
despite the last bit of it
being spent as overweight
and with major lack of confidence
i found myself indifferent
to everything.

maybe it was because of the depression
and the abuse
or it was everything combined
but i wasn't excited or upset
about graduating.

i didn't have anything
to look forward to,
the life i imagined for myself
after high school
was a coffin
and i couldn't see anything past that.

sometimes i found myself thinking that
if i failed my senior year
i could stay another year
and maybe that would mean
another year for me to live
before i met the end.

mostly,
in those last few months
i found myself growing fonder
of the people that spent their time
teaching me the things they knew
and i had begun
to entertain the idea of becoming a teacher
since i thought
that i would get nowhere
with art or writing.

after i graduated
and realized i wanted to live after all
i spent little to no time
looking into becoming a high school teacher
it all seems too much of everything
too much money, too much time
not having enough time
that's the thing holding me back
my excuses that keep me stuck
and flailing around
wallowing in self-pity
in the pig sty of my room.

maybe if i took a leap
took a chance,
grew a metaphorical pair of *****
(or just got a shot of testosterone)
i would man up
and do the **** that it takes
to get where i want to be.

staring at the blank page
i find myself thinking
quite low of myself.

wondering to myself
absently muttering out loud
as if adding more sound
to the white noise
will give me a sense of validation
that i still exist.

the hum of the laptop
and turquoise hexagon sun
mixes with the sound
of the car doors closing outside
and the people sitting
in their chairs, lazing about
staring at the television screens

what else can i hear?
closing my eyes, i stop
taking a moment
to let my worried mind rest
forgetting about my financial crisis
to bathe in the sound
of my silence.

with my eyes closed
i type with confidence
i don't fear my words
when i can't see them
my eyes feel hot
under my dark eyelids
as heavy as they are
i am surprised i don't
slouch and fall into slumber
right here in my chair.

in the second it takes
to flutter open my eyes
and reread the words i just wrote
i have to remember
to stop myself before i nitpick
and change what came
from my heart
and at the time felt right.

if only
i went through life like this more often
then maybe i wouldn't feel so down
or ******* myself
because honestly i'm not that bad
nor am i as dumb
or silly as i feel
and maybe next time
when i go ice skating
i won't be such a little *****
about how i look to other people.

four years ago
my freshman year
i met a boy with dark blue eyes
who added me on myspace
and chatted with me on aim

he didn't really speak to me
or ask me any questions
he only knew what he did
because i talk so much

and somehow
we started dating
which i still don't understand why
because after the first week
i had a feeling in my gut
that i would regret this
in the long run.

we felt the high
and the ecstasy of first love
along with first everything else
including betrayal and agony
the only kind you can feel
when someone you thought
you love does something so
so awful to you.

the first winter we were happy
i think and we made plans for next year
that we broke the majority of
and in the summer we made promises
some that i shouldn't have

a year had passed
and i thought i would
be spending a few more with him
but that winter
i learned that love can grow cold
and freeze over

maybe i had changed too much
or it was him belittling me
telling me that everything i liked
was childish
and a waste of time.

the next year
i had decided that
that would be all i would put up with
i did not deserve this grief
or to be told that
i was too easy.

a friend that morning
had spoken with me and him
and walked with us through the halls
of the beginning of our junior year
and when we were alone
the friend said to me
'your eyes look so dead'

and i will never
forget those words
or forget
his cries on the phone
that night
when i finally
set myself
free

i suffered from
a disease called
depression.

it started when my
mother left
because she wasn't in love

and i was the only
one around
to feel his rage.

a few months later
that was when
i was done

i told the guidance counselor
that i was ready
and she asked me if i was sure

"without a doubt
if i am not stopped
you won't see me tomorrow"

and she called him
explaining the dangers and
sent me home.

the only thing
he was worried about
was how people saw him

what people were
going to think
when they heard the news.

how could he have
a dysfunctional daughter
when he is so perfect?

i was sent to counseling
and like i expected
it didn't help.

she was kind
but with her religion
she tried to show me new light

and don't get me wrong
there's nothing bad about it
but it's just not my style

and with her christianity
i could never fully
express how i felt.

while i didn't mind
wasting his money
i ended it early

"yes of course i'm better
no longer do i wish
to slit my wrists".

the next month
i did just that

he's like a disease
stuck in my mind
his constant abuse
yelling in the back of
my brain

i cut and tear
and pull and
try to rip it out
drain my blood
and give to others
in hopes to create
something pure

i just want
the words gone
i don't want to
listen to this abuse
anymore

it's been two years
since i've left him
so why can i
still hear it

i thought that
maybe if i cleaned
my insides
the words would
disappear
but

they haven't and
some days
it ruins me

i wish i didn't have
to be the parent
of my mother

i wish i didn't have
to constantly listen to her
complaints about how
her husband doesn't
satisfy her needs

i wish i didn't have
to listen to her cry
and feel the pain
she feels because
it hurts me too

i wish i didn't have
to be the punching bag
for all of her grief
because i have enough already

i wish i didn't feel
so selfish
for wishing all of this

he would sit in his room
and draw space ships
that could only be described
as something from star wars
or star trek

and he'd do geometry on the floor
his school books scattered
and punk music
would be playing on his
boom box

game informers stacked high
in tens and twenties
all over his bookcase
cozy against star wars
and hardy boys

the wood frame bed
simple and pure
until tainted by a name
of his first love
scratched in with passion
and heartbreak

he lied quite often
and was a sore loser
his mood usually consisted of
being short fused
and even more short fused

and then he moved
left for good
not visiting for another three years
and then three more after that
each time
he gets older
and less of the thirteen year old
i had known
when he lived
at home

since i was a child
i felt like i didn't fit in
with all the other
children

i didn't understand
the way they worked
i couldn't wrap my mind
around the way
their minds
worked

and i'd hate to sound pretentious
or as if i'm better than them
because i spent my time reading
and lying about the boys
that didn't actually
throw my flip flops in
the water

i'm not sure
why i wanted their attention
or their approval
and i'm not sure
why i even wanted their friendship
since we never
had anything
in common

but this begs another question
that i can't answer either
which upsets me greatly
and constantly has me asking
"what if"

if i hadn't cared
what the others thought
in middle school
would i have
'gone steady'
with the boy everyone
made fun of
even though i thought
he was cute

but that's all right
because i am glad
with where things are
in my life right now
even if i sometimes
spend nights thinking
about all of those what ifs
because my brain somehow
can't shut off
with all of its
white noise
and troubling thoughts

let me tell you this story
of how i felt better
after a while

first it was my brother that left
then it was my mom
and then my father
who isn’t even my father
wasn’t even around
always too busy to play a board game,
leaving me to play Stratego alone
my brother too old to play with
a younger sister
who plays with his hot wheels

but my father
who didn’t help me
when i needed him most
who didn’t listen when i
made it so blatant that i was hurting
who didn’t hear me when
i was sobbing so hard
and didn’t realize that
i was trying so hard
to not be there
at all
ever

and then there was him
a boy who said he loved me
but wouldn’t listen to me either
said i didn’t have the right
since his parents were split
since one

and there was also him
again but with a different face
who said he loved me
but was with me for the intimacy
who saw my cuts
and instead of listening,
slapped them,
which stung
which made me tear myself up
some more

then there was him
but in the form
of a feeling
that told me he loved me
and kept me warm at night
leaving me heart empty
and my soul bare
it felt right
to be there

but my father
wasn’t my father
and getting to the point
i think i’m trying to make
he’d rather help his girlfriend
and her daughter
than help his own blood
even if she claims suicide,
claiming it’s only a phase
but the scars show it true
that it was no fad

and oh,
i’m not allowed to cry
it seems i’m trying to manipulate
by showing my feelings
i’m not allowed to show affection
because then i’ll be
manipulating
and i can do no right in his eyes
everything i do
is
manipulating
and betraying

and it’s no wonder,
he says,
i have no friends
because i am so selfish
and
worthless
a *******
that will never amount to anything
ever.

he screams,
you do nothing for me
i do everything in this house,
he says,
all you do is take and take
and i’m sick of it
i want some appreciation,

he yells,
connie wouldn’t do this to me
because she loves me
you’re just like your mother
manipulating
and a liar.

please understand,
after being told so many times
by multiple people,
that it seems
i have begun to understand and accept these as truths
and that i really
have no worth at all
and the feeling i have come to love,
(a sense of numbness
that is mine
and no one else can understand)
kept me
simply on the edge
until that night,

but once again
i have gone off track
this is getting much too long
and from the beginning
i’ve been trying to explain
that i don’t feel this way
all the time
anymore

and while i want to
rip apart my flesh and
ruin my hair
i’m starting to feel better
and as if i am something quite nice