3rd Grade, Awards Assembly
Children are filed into the cafeteria in almost orderly lines
Giggling about silly jokes that make no sense to adults
But for awards, they are silent, and expecting.
Kindergarten, first grade, second grade, finally
The little girl with her shiny black shoes waits for her award telling her that she qualifies as smart
And she receives perfect attendance

8th Grade, School Computer Room
Awkward preteens set in blue plastic chairs
Friends clumped together around a single screen
"Secretly" googling ***** like it's a crime, though everyone knows
But in the very back
The girl with her black bag full of books checking her grades online
Has her nose to the monitor and worry in her heart
Because just perfect attendance makes her a disappointment.

Junior Year, Home Bathroom
Soapy water soaks the floor and into a dollar store rug
The bath is half empty and tinted a rusty shade of red
And sitting on the floor with her knees to her chin, carving A+ into the scarred skin of her arm
Is the girl, almost a woman, with her eyes messily ringed in black, who doesn't dare cut too deep.
Killing herself would mean losing her perfect attendance.

This boy lying in between my sheets
has a body like a ****** nose. If it
were up to me his teeth would be bruised,
but instead his shins are covered in broken
thunder. Last night lying next to him was dark
as damp childhood hair (from getting out
of the pool, from just learning how to swim, from just
learning how to feel ashamed of my body, all
wet like fresh lips). Last night was so dark I had
to hold my breath: held it for 7 seconds before
I yelped for air.

This boy is not mine. This boy
is like somebody else’s death: he is hardly with me.
This boy sits still and cross-legged in between
my sheets like a black crab. He looks all skewed
and crooked, all out of place. When he touches me
I kick him, my legs flustering out and then recoiling
back in like dying ancestors.

Lately it’s felt like I’m dying over and over again,
like I am dying with him. This morning I wait
for him to leave, and then to die, and then to wake up
again, spring up like small new gravestones.

Every boy I have ever loved has killed himself.
Murmur the word “suicide” to me before I sleep
and I will dream about the days when I used to feel
dizzy, always, when I used to faint, always, when
I used to peck at my mosquito bites, always.

Welcome to your new home
I'm sorry about the mess
But the last person who lived in here
Left it a bit of a wreck
They often used harsh language
and smoked too many cigarettes
they were rough around the edges
and all around a mess
They passed that on to me
and for I while I joined in
But then it became painful to me
In nothing could I win
But they packed up and left
and I went through rehabilitation
So here I am before you
refreshed and anew
and now I wish to open my heart
once again for you
So come make a happy home
lay your self to rest
It all belongs to you now
I give you all my best.

Slitting her wrists was a cry for help
a very faint whimper
she watched as the blood dropped freely onto her lap
splashing against her tan skin
waiting to feel "okay" again
but this time she didn't
she cut until she felt weak
weaker
weaker
....
gone

Grass.
     Rain.
           clouds.
And open field.
                   Bare feet let the mud climb the walls between their toes.  Let the grass greet them with a coiled handshake.  Each dew drop will trace a vein.
Nature.