I didn't pay too much attention
to those helpless girls in movies
            sinking like molasses
            melting into pitiful puddles
at the feet
            of their men.
Those delicate elegant girls
who were swept off the sidewalks
            and carried home
            over a shoulder
dripping in diamonds and pearls
and wearing
            that plastered red-lipstick grin.

Then I went to Vegas and saw
            for myself
those girls on the street
            decorated
                        like you would decorate something
            as worthless
            as a Christmas tree
wearing nothing but a few sparse
            sequins and jewels
and huge blue wings
            on their backs made out of feathers.
Those girls whose naked pictures
            were posted on little cards with a price
and scattered on the pavement and sidewalks
for the viewing pleasure
            of the smokers, gamblers, and drunks
            passing by
like they were furniture
you could just use
            and throw away
            with the rest of your garbage.

Even then I didn't pay too much attention
until I went back to my hotel
            for a shower
There were mirrors on every wall
            reflecting every curve and crevice
                        of my pale scrawny figure
but I didn't see my own body
I stared horrified at the mirror
and saw
            a helpless puddle of molasses
            eye-candy dripping in jewels and covered in lipstick
            a naked angel with feathered wings
            and my picture on
                        a ***** little card
                                    occasionally glanced at
                                    or swiped up and grinned at
                                    and trampled by busy feet
                        *on the streets
of Las Vegas.

She squints her stubbornly sapphire eyes
            so she doesn't have to see
                        how sharp the edges of the world
                                    really are
She blasts music through earbuds
                        into her sensitive ears
                        even though it kills and burns
            so she doesn't have to hear
                        the truth about people
                                     or life
                                     or herself
She cuts scars in her soft skin
            that bleed the blaring music
            she forced into her head
                        so when they dry into scabs
            she won't have to feel
                        what dreams are really made of

Her eyes
            her ears
                        her skin
were a gift to her so that she might
see
            hear
                        feel
but the cruel, ugly world
is too much for her
            Why me?
                        she whispers
                        through hopeless tears and clenched teeth
            Why am I Chosen to see
                        the world
                        through the lens of raw reality?
She begs for
blindness
            deafness
                        no feeling
like the rest of them
It is too much for her
to be
truly

Aware

We were having dinner together
            the three of us
It was silent
except for the clicking
            of our forks on our plates
and dark
except for the dim orange glow
            of five little candles on the table
I should have known
            because there was
something deafening about the silence
something blinding about the dark

My father's fork stopped clicking
and he looked up at me
there was
            something crazy in his eyes
his irises turned to ashes
            and fell like snow
            from his darkened face
and he stood slowly
my mother and I with him
            as if drawn up by a magnet

She said his name
            slowly
            careful not to break the delicate silence
but he yelled hers
            his eyes flaming now
            shattering the silence
                        like the brittle glass it was
and he hurled the shards at her
            a thousand at her heart
She
        f
           e
               l
                  l
            with a dull
            eerie
            thud.
Something screamed
            and told me
            to keep the silence
so I stood petrified and said
nothing

But it was already broken
He threw a thousand more
            and added a thousand
            tongues of fire from his eyes
at me
And I fell too
            next to her
I gripped her ****** hand
            as we died together

            killed
                        by the shards

            of broken

silence.

I like the days when
I wake up at noon
            and crawl slowly
            from messy sheets
            to greet with blurry eyes
            the lazy afternoon sun
and eat breakfast
over the sink
at two PM

I make my tea
            lemon ginger
            with honey to calm the steam
and carry it upstairs
I sit at my desk
            in my pajamas
            half my face covered
            by my frizzy bedhead hair
and
squinting out my window
into the pink and periwinkle sunset
I pick up my pen
            with soft cold fingers
and scrawl onto a napkin
from yesterday's dinner
my poetry
in ink
the color of
            anxious afternoon sun
            steam from lemon ginger tea
            brown of unkempt hair
            and the
pink
and periwinkle

sunset.