i get letters from home,
and girls tell me about the boys with the trench coats
who used to smack my *** and give me free brownies and smoke with me in the forest,
when snow was icily hugging the sleeping earth.
how he acquired a green thumb
and landed his ******, joking *** in jail
by painting "revolution" and "anarchy" on the walls of the
stone white highschool,
sprayed the word "pig" on a cop car.

i was proud,
remembering the time i told him i wanted him to help me
paint Pink Floyd lyrics in front of the library,
below the hill
on the big white canvas
to remind all of the dry-eyed, cardboard-mouthed kids that they're
just another brick in the wall.

i read it and my face glowed
with the fact that
they were revolting,
that the little town i left behind is still on fire
rife and ripe with the deep streaks
of maroon rebellion.

i hear about how
the only boy i've ever truly slept with;
fell asleep with our legs intertwined,
and woke with his soft breath on my neck in the morning,
naked skin growing goosebumps
in our bareness,
how he drew in my darling girl
of sweet chai and small teeth and big eyes and warm heart
like a soft, cozy cup of spicy tea,
how she became lost in his green eyes
and dripping confidence,
overflowing, superfluous
from the bursting vaults he holds inside
his chest, sprouting out along
with trees of light brown hair.

i got angry
i don't want stupid men to touch her,
to taint her
with small lies,
slipping from soft lips,
just enough poison to enchant her.
i'd bite their fingers off
one by one,
and chew their lips out with my
raging teeth
before i let that happen.

sometimes i feel like i need to protect her,
even though i'm the one who
corrupted her in the first place.

i'm the one who taught her that
chain smoking cigarettes in a ditch
during P.E. isn't so bad,
(and it's not, i just dont want her to do it)
who told her that kissing boys half naked in
fall leaves behind apartment complexes,
and letting them take off my clothes in the bushes
getting thorns stuck in my hair,
letting my underwear and skirt scatter forgotten at my feet,
along with his softly murmured "i love you,"
i told her that's normal;
(i want her to kiss who she pleases
but
****
i just dont want them to touch her with their ***** hands.)
who ranted to her that commitment was for people
who didn't want to experience everything they possibly could in life,
for boring ones,
who weren't worthwhile.

i showed her that
self destructive tendencies,
messy, unbrushed hair,
and purple leather jackets,
tie dye skirts
smelling like an ashtray
from smoking Marlboros in the school garden house
with a yellow sun a top it just before class
was just a part of growing into a woman.
(i guess we all have different paths,
but i wont forget her eyes when she looked at me,
i was torn and she was
stitching me up with string made from her
own skin.)
and then i realized what an absolutely
horrible friend i am,
how wretched i had been to you,
when you called me so long ago
and told me in a dry, vacant voice,
you were sad,
you had thought about hurting yourself.
i should have realized what i'd done
i hadn't protected you enough from the
desirous, screaming demon inside me
always craving, aching for more,
never, ever satisfied.

then,
you tell me in a letter
that you understood why i did the things i did,
and that you're learning
its okay to let go and do them too.

and i had to let that sink in.
if that's what i always wanted, then why did panic suddenly take me, light my body on fire?

when i'm away from you, its so simple
to become overprotective,
lashing out my broken jaws and
roaring voice at anything that
dares try to hurt you
erase the truth,
purity,
that you hold so deeply inside you.

i don't want you to kiss manipulative boys,
with dark hair
and let them touch you in a sneaking drunk dreariness
within a winter cave of night,
and i don't want you to touch them back,
and find broken brandy bottles
and their shattered glass
slowly sinking their bodies into your delicate fingers.
i don't want you to be numb, hollowed out,
walking around halls
and open lockers of close-minded
highschools
with bloodshot eyes and unstable hands, shaking and jittering,
high off some good bud after third period,
and adderall just before sixth.
i don't want you to let boys finger
you so
hard
that you practically popped your cherry,
so you sit, hips cramping, and
hurt,
soreness sinking into you,
as he begs you to kiss him
and you refusing,
insisting that he ought to know by now
"you're just another boy
i have too many
to risk kissing you in public."
i cant believe he stayed.

i don't want you to realize,
when you're drunk and stumbling on black asphalt
in the early morning
that you always feel
so ******* empty,
and off-kilter,
like somethings missing,
but whatever you try to fill it with;
gentle *** in plaid sheets,
(or were they plaid boxers?),
burning *****
(was it whiskey?).
broken ashtrays
(i said sorry, but still didn't feel forgiven)
cigarette after cigarette
("you always try to drown yourself in perfume,
but i can always smell it.")
until you get a headache and a groggy voice,
hash smoked out of apple pipes from
cafeterias,
("i'll bury it here, whenever you want to ****, just dig it up.")
visits to the school therapist
("you're bright, you know that."
how many kids have you not told that to?)
hits from your mother
("i don't regret it, like you probably don't regret the cigarettes."
"WHY DON'T YOU JUST ******* EAT THEM IF YOU WANT
THAT POISON INSIDE YOU SO MUCH."),
call slips from the attendance office
(i pinned up all my detention slips on my walls,
white flags flying
far from surrender)
same record playing,
(Vincent, Don McLean)
blood dripping down to the brown
towel you set out
to catch your slipping fears,
as they bled out of you in crimson rivers
and made a savage battleground below you;
feeling like you will never fill that empty,
tar-like black
hole
burnt inside you.

i don't want it to happen.

i want to protect you fiercely like
a mother lion,
and keep you in the safe haven of my echoing
den,

but then i think of what i'd do if you were next me
laying on your silk sheets,
looking out the glassy windows
reflecting the sky,
i know without a ******* ******* doubt in my mind,
i'd light my eyes up with a mischievous grin,
glance at your paintings
(they always inspired me)
and march to your parents bar.
(why did they keep it downstairs when they knew you had friends like me?)
i'd insist we'd have to drink at least a little,
swerve our vision till the music
caresses us,
and then i'd take a bit of everything and i'd watch you
as the liquid slid down your throat,
then i'd say i was proud of you.

but really, i want you to know that
you'll grow up when your ready,
you're so precious, but so strong
and i just need you to remember who you really are.
you're inspiration,
paintings made out of dots,
you take care of me when i'm falling apart
and horrible
and yelling.
there cant be two of us
drunken,
screaming for cupcakes in the middle
of a brightly lit grocery store,
please don't change just because
other people are doing it.
you're so strong,
be strong.

god i'm so ******* contradictory.

i just love you so much.
i don't want you to hurt
i don't want you to lose things
like i have,
to greedy boys fingers,
i don't want you bearing the pain,
(it'll be gone by the second time anyways)
i'd do anything to stop it.

but if you really want it,

some things are just so inescapable.