In Houston, Texas,
she was a volcanic eruption.
A sword ripping through
the societal norms.
She looked on the world
as her carnival, sometimes sticky
and smelly, but wonderful and bright.

Every morning Marley would
sit on her driveway.
Waiting for the mailman to
bring her the bills.
Every morning she'd smile at him.
Tell him stories about her
life as flea market shopper.
"There's a piece of gold
amidst all that trash."
Introduce him to her shelled spider.
"This is my pet crab Eddie.
We're best friends, he's a hermit too."


Her death came in an odd
silence.
Her simple absence on Wednesday
morning.
Marley Rain was an exceptional
girl.
The mailman said she made an exceptional
corpse.

Step one:
Admit that you have a problem.

Hi, I'm so and so,
and I am anorexic.
Wait, am I supposed
to state one problem
or all of them?

Let me start over.

Hi, I'm so and so,
and I am anorexic.
I am a self harming,
drug abusing, attention
seeking, anorexic with
a penchant for seeking
out love in all the wrong places.
I'm an occasional smoker,
a complete *****,
and a highly trained klepto.

I'm also a procrastinator,
does that count?

I'm self-consumed, suicidal,
and sometimes I let water boil over on the stove without cleaning up the mess.
I blame things on other people as often as possible, and never tell the
cashier when they've given me too much change back.

I know that's not all,
but it's awfully hard to remember everything
that's wrong with me right now.

Oh yeah, I'm forgetful. And terrible under pressure.
And at public speaking. I lie...a lot, and actually,
I made some of these problems up.

So I came here to get help.
By the way, when exactly does that start?

I started with a boundary line.
I found all my edges and started building in.
Every piece felt different.
Another personality come to stay.
And yet they all fit so easily inside my frame,
as if I'd kept this space open for them all along.

So I drank them in.
I flooded myself with their
convexed and concaved sides.
I let them find their place,
no guidance along the way,
and waited to feel whole again.

Then I realized what it felt like
to be assembled by a faulty machine.
To have a piece of myself lost on some dusty floor,
waiting to be swept away.

How am I supposed feel whole,
when I was never that way to begin with?
Who do I blame for my missing pieces?

Every night I try to press myself
into the pages of my favorite book,
and every night I realize that the spine
is too weak to hold onto all the extra vowels.

So instead,  
I tear out every single page.
I fold them into paper airplanes,
each with my lip stain on the wing,
and I scatter them in your yard.
I watch every one glide and soar
until it crashes, even after I've
woken the neighbors. Even after
your parents have called the police.
Even after you stand in front of me,
so close that all I can do is crush them
against your chest.

I stand here as a woman,
as a stubborn girl with pride.
I stand here as a college student,
one just trying to get by.
I stand here as a writer,
with no words to heal the pain.
I stand here as a mother
with two angels to my name.
I stand here as a testament,
to every failed suicide.
I stand here as a story,
where it goes I will decide.