i have this nasty
habit of leaving
day-old sweat
in my pores
and scraping out
years of
hair follicles in
mere minutes.

have you ever gotten
to thinking about
inadequacy?
or the way a
thursday morning is
so busy but you
just feel
fogged over?

not breathing is
really gross
meaning i must be
exceptionally disgusting

and i cried when
i told you about
the fresh scars
and you gave me a
hug like i needed and
i rubbed the back of
my neck where the
humidity clung.

you see i feel
guilty keeping secrets
but even more
guilty when you worry
because nobody
should worry about me

it's not
worth it.

i'm seventeen
days clean now
seventeen
days closer to

closer
closer

**** it hurts
to be a failure

once in awhile i think too hard
about the graduation parties
inserted into forced friendships
and i wonder if any of my
darkest moments had
been felt by the other girls, too.

there are dark moments
that stand out to me
too bright on the
canvass of life.

i was seven years old
and some boys shouted at me
and told me that my pink bicycle
(obtained secondhand from some
nice church family)
was actually theirs
(it wasn't but i can
still see the scene in my mind
and don't know why it still
bothers me sometimes.)

i was a little older
and somebody was slamming doors
running up and down stairs
and i was sitting on my assistant
pastor's couch with some
eighth-grade girls i didn't know
who were crying their eyes out
and i was feeling very bitter and afraid.

somebody was screaming
****** threats and my heart
was pushed into my throat like
pony beads between marbles
inside paisley print just like that
necklace from that one funeral

was it papa's funeral?
i can't even remember.

all i knew was that
there had been a car accident
and i knew that just hours before
he had won one of
barb's stuffed giraffes in a raffle
and christmas had been coming up
i think i cried in the shower
but i know i sat in the living room
stared at the wall and jared said
"you could go downstairs and
talk to somebody"
i didn't.

that was the first christmas
that ever felt truly wrong.

i have never felt so
alone as i sat cross-legged on
a hospital bed in the blue
paper scrubs they put you in
when they think you're a loaded gun
and listened to the world run by
tears barely dried and pen
scratching away

i never would have ended up there
if i had known how to manipulate
the system like i do now
but i wasn't smart enough to know
that saying you have
suicidal thoughts is as
good as saying you've got a plan and
a knife in your back pocket.

i think my arms were still
bleeding under my sleeves
when you looked me in the
eye and slapped me in the face.

literally
i mean that you
literally
hit me in the face
oh but mom
was ******.

i still think about that sometimes
while we're at the dinner table
all eating together and i'll move
my chair over two inches
because you're right next to me
and i know that it only
ever happened once and you
would never do it again but then
again it seems safer closer
to the wall
and sometimes when you're
standing by the cupboard
i walk all the way around the
stove to avoid getting too close.

i was fifteen years old
and crumpled on the bathroom floor
probably had something to do
with exhaustion and blood loss
i was seventeen years old
passed out the wrong way on my bed
brand-new laptop facedown on the floor
a byproduct of the education system

(seventeen year olds should not
have to experience going into a store
and spending the last of their
birthday money on shapewear so
they can feel almost okay about
their body at the dance
but that's just a footnote or a deep
gray addition to my blackest moments)

i remember that time a couple
months ago when you threw
me into a relaxing bath and i was
afraid you'd see my legs

and i was afraid of who
i kept finding myself to be
on sunday mornings at ten
when i was still at home
lying in bed and listening to
ambient instrumental music

(ripping myself away
is the worst feeling
i think i've ever felt
especially when the
questions start coming
sealed signed and delivered.)

hanging on by a thread
watching all the worst parts
of my memories flash over
and over again late at night
when the music hits that tiny
little crack above my heart.

but i've been thinking about
being a failure and wondering
if every girl has had her own
bathroom floor moment

and does the
difference lie in
how late at night she
lets it keep her awake?

summer
makes me sick.