Marzanna

Marzanna May 2014

there's a gap between your front teeth and between
your visions and plans and reality
holes in your personality, waiting to be filled up
and i wonder
what will become of you?

for my little brother;
maybe someday he'll read it.

#hope #family

Marzanna May 2014

Untitled

why the **** would you
even pretend to care
after all of that?

#haiku

Marzanna Apr 2014

Life from the front of the school bus

when they pull up to the stop
i am the last to get on
i sit in the front, with a good view
of the street
(i know the route by heart)
turn left at ryan road and
pass the old run down convenience store
broken and unwanted, like,
a mole on a hand-model's finger,
or perhaps me;
did you know that they all wave at each other?
the bus drivers, i mean
when they pass on the road
nothing meaningful, just
a quick wave of the hand
i see you there
doing what i'm doing
hey, buddy, why'd we pick this job
anyway?
there's a kid behind me who always kicks my chair
and the blonde ******* my left
glares at me from above
a paper-back romance novel
i try to smile, but
i don't think she wants to be my friend
(she laughed at me last year
from across the plastic cafeteria floor
and called me a witch
if i recall correctly)
when we pull up to the school
i pull out my phone
and pretend to be texting
(i don't even have a plan;
the phone's for music)
so that they all get out before me;
once i pushed ahead of a boy
in a snapback and sweatpants
and i think that's just about the bravest thing
someone from the front of the school bus
has ever done.

Marzanna Feb 2014

Happy Birthday

I wish
I wasn't
Here
At all
I wish
I'd learned
To stop
The fall
The inevitable
Sinking
Loss
Of hope
All my friends
In the bathroom
Smoking
Coke
The party's over
Please,
Go home
We're all
Much nicer
When we're not
Alone
The kids
I used to
Know
have cut
Their wrists
Their make up
Smearing
On their
Lips;
I cannot
Regret
What you
Have done
The cake's
Been eaten
But the song's
Unsung

Marzanna Feb 2014

So. Gross.

Let's talk about suicide.
Nasty word-
Isn't it?
So gross
But I feel it controlling me
And pushing the blood through my veins

We hate to talk about it
When it happens,
We speak of it only
Over cups of coffee
A muttered secret to a close friend
Words spilling out of our mouths like ****

So.
Gross.

So gross, in fact
That when I was twelve years old
And took the amount of pills I thought necessary to end a life
I couldn't bring myself to tell my mother to take me to the hospital
And instead lay awake
Terrified of what was going to happen
Until I went upstairs
Shoved a toothbrush down my throat
And spewed ***** that tasted of tylenol extra-strength
Of hopes gone and lost
Of secrets never to be told
Of a little girl scared of what was going to come next.

My mom never found out
Because it was

So.
Gross.

And even now
Years later
When I'm walking down a flight of stairs
Steep enough to snap a neck
I have to pause
And say to myself
"No, Diana. Not today.
You still have things to do."
And sometimes, it's really hard
Because I don't have anything left to do
I'm tired and sick and fat and useless
And I wish I wasn't here
I have no friends no family
Nothing left to speak of
Just a numb throbbing in my head

When it's really bad, I ask myself what would happen if I had died that day
The answer scares me.

So.
Gross.

Is that gross?
Yes, it's repulsive, I agree.
But you know what?
I lived. I'm still here, even if I don't want to be
And I still wake up and get dressed
I still cover my scars with jewelry and makeup
I still hold the pills in my hand
And stand at the stairs and say

"Not today, Diana.
You still have things to do."

whooo this is personal
wrote it a while ago, so sorry it's really rough

Marzanna Dec 2013

I wish

I

          have never felt happy
          or loved, or wanted.
          when I was younger, I
          used to

Wish

          upon a star
          hoping, dreaming.
          they yelled at me
          for staying up too late;

I

         could never make
         them understand
         that the stars
         were my only freinds.

Was

         I really so disposable
         and useless
         like a corpse in
         a morgue, a

Dead

         body, waiting to be
         burned?

Marzanna Sep 2013

My Darling, My Dear.

They called me before they put it on the news
The phone rang three times
It was two in the morning
I answered with
"Who the **** is this?"
The the answer that came back to me
Was something I would have never dreamed
Though they came to our house several times that week
And wrote on their yellow legal pads
Even when they took you to the station for questioning
I still thought
"No, not my wife."

It was the police
Calling to say that after hours of interrogation
You'd confessed.

My darling, my dear,
I ask you not as an enemy
But as a friend-
How could you?

Did bullets leaving a gun sound too much like
The blood pushing through your veins?
Did you look at them and see not humans
But colours and noises and air?
Was the allure
Of taking a mortal and carving their veins into shreds
Too much for you to control?
Was there some violence in your past that you had to avenge
On all the humans you could reach?
Please, my darling, my dear,
How could you?

On our wedding day
When your dress tore and we fought
Did that contaminate your love?
When you took a exacto-knife
And carved a bird onto the boys skin
Did you think that perhaps the bird was you?
Did you fly? Do you regret it?
Do you regret me?
My darling, my dear,
How could you?

I think perhaps you were Mary
And gifted with a child
But you saw it, weaker than you
And burnt it alive.
Was the pain of knowing
That you could
Greater than morality
Of if you should?
My darling, my dear,
How could you?

Did it get harder
Every single day
Like drops falling into a cup
Till it overflowed with words and feelings unsaid
Rage and anger unchecked
And things that you were not allowed to touch
Except with blood on your hands?

My darling, my dear
If you have an answer
Please, tell me!

How could you?