seven years old: the first time i felt the onslaught
of crippling sadness, inexplicable & heavier on my heart
than any childhood misfortunes had readied me for.  small body shaking,
pulse racing, convulsing with tears, i collapsed sobbing
into my mother’s lap.  she stroked my hair,
touched the wetness on my cheeks, asked
what i could possibly be so upset about?

i didn’t have an answer.

twelve years old i am sitting on my carpet playing with razors,
delighting in the heady rush of breaking skin & blood.
never before have i committed such deliberate sins
upon my body, knowing that acting out
virulent self-hatred
was not the way to deal
but this is the beginning of everything
that follows in its wake.
i am dousing my weeping wounds in rubbing alcohol
because it hurts me more.

fifteen years old, skipping breakfast,
tossing school lunches in the trash,
begging off dinner because i’m sick/my stomach hurts/
i don’t feel like eating/please don’t make me/
just leave me alone/
just leave me the **** alone.
learning to subsist on nothing,
taking the plunge down the rabbit hole,
headfirst,
just to see how far
it goes.

seventeen, rock bottom.  eighty-nine pounds,
a haphazardly placed collection of scars,
i cry every morning & night.  i am horrifically in love
& i’m killing him.  no amount of apologies can make up
for what i’ve done.

eighteen, the summer turns into a nightmare.  
i begin to forget things.  like how it used to be okay sometimes.
there are pills sleeping beneath my mattress again.
i contemplate killing myself every day,
decide i’m not worth the effort.
far more punishing to exist half-human.
far better to wreck myself beyond redemption.

look at me now, wearing a smile
that doesn’t quite fit my face.  i can pretend to be okay
most of the time, but my head,
my head is a warzone of agony,
high on anxiety, low on dopamine,
struggling to get by doesn’t begin to describe my days.

this is how i am &
i don’t know how to survive this.
i don’t know if i can live with myself.

don’t pretend you have seen what i carry inside of me there is a wildfire between my ribs i am afire with thoughts whose intensity would burn you alive maybe i am just a girl but if you had seen the things i’ve seen you’d understand why i am the way i am i don’t mean to be sad but i am done damming up my tears for you i am finished with self-restraint i will bleed rivers & watch myself ignite because i know what i am & i will hurt if i have to i will not pretend i am okay just you wait i am not your dream i am a nightmare

i loved you before i knew what i was looking for.  
i loved you before i knew what love is, carelessly left
the pieces of us scattered on your bedroom floor,
pretended i didn’t know
i was breaking you.

when i told you i didn’t think we were meant for each other,
what i really meant was
you deserved better than the likes of me.
i spent weeks locked in the hospital
for playing with suicide,
had an almost-child once,
could handle the taste of liquor better than
your fragile lips, none of this
i told you.

i loved you, but you needed someone
with more skin than scar tissue.
i loved you, but i didn’t trust myself
not to leave you with more damage
than you could bear.

I can’t tell you how often I yearned to be her cigarette.
Clasped between her fingers,
delicately placed and savored;
******* all that I had into her.

And as much as I wanted to fall into the creases
that parted each lip,
I wanted to be the first thing she tasted
when she drew her morning breath
And her every exhale to cover me like skin

Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Was this the right choice?
Seeing warnings on twitter
Thinking they're all quitters
Thinking you're better
But in reality, you're just as equal as them.

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Seeing your friends play, you start multiplying
Not even touching a pipe and dying
You're on the floor, you're crying
Pressing start over and over again and trying
Knowing your high score is low and start lying
because you know you ****.

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Questions going through your mind
"Why did I die?"
"Did I really touch a pipe?"
"Why do iPhone users only have day while Android have both day and night?"
"Why is it slower on other phones?"
"How do you get past 20?"
"Why do I keep dying?"
"Why do Android users have other colors?"
But the question you should be asking is...
"Am I going mad?"

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Now, the resolution.
Stop the addiction.
Press that "x"
You know its for the greater good.
I know YOU feel the ANGER whenever you die.
You don't wanna risk throwing your phone for that.
Take my advice. DO IT.
Before it ruins your life.

But as the day passes...
You can't.
You can't.
You can't.

Its too late.
Flappy Bird is now part of life.
Even though the anger
The anger that feels like your chest being stabbed by a knife
Hurts you so much
Deep inside you get a little happy...
Knowing somewhere in the world someone trying the same game
Got less than you.
Less than 3, 2, or 1.
And because of this you want to beat more people who **** more than you.

And this should be an achievement
You, state your name, got YOUR own high score.
YOU did it
YOU made it to one pipe or even more.
And if you didn't
Well ***** for you

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

near the surface,
just beneath the sounds of our feet
among the bones, are arrowheads
maybe a spent cartridge from the bluecoats
who brought a strange thunder,
disturbing the a cappella birdsong,
deeper
hidden in eons of darkness, unperturbed,
until now, by the shallow, scratching efforts
of the creatures above,  
a black organic soup, remnants of plants
and animals who once breathed  
like we, we who now voraciously drill
through the tired but tenacious skin  
to reach a rich marrow, one we resurrect
to blaspheme in our mobile ovens
and scatter ashes
on a deaf and dying rock  

Post Script:
The earth never forgets.
Whatever we do to ****** it is recorded, often in ways undecipherable to man, but etched  permanently somehow, somewhere.
Does the earth seek revenge?
Or is it retribution, or a reckoning?
Anything that has the power to recall every act in infinite detail and in perpetuity has the potential to respond.
Maybe a propensity to respond?  
Is the earth an angry god?
I do not know, but
the earth never forgets.

will I put lipstick on you  
when you lay still and silent
as the last morning
  
or will you pull the sheet
over my face gently  
with a surprised sense of relief  
when my final breath
marries the gray air
  
will it be in the room
where we slept
under the watchful eye
of children and grandchildren
their timeless images nailed to the walls  
ever present but mute
while they navigated worlds  
with horizons we would never see

or would it be in the
hallowed house of hospice
where palliative words like
“we will miss you”
“not long now,”
“you can go, it’s OK,”
float above the beds  
like birds stalled in flight  
riding unseen currents, but
soon to swoop down
to perch on mystic memories,
briefly,
before flying into
the karmic night