Nobody ever gave me a boundary
Some sort of line to never cross
Nobody ever gave me a wall
Or a locked gate
Nobody ever told me to stop
You all told me I was limitless
So you can only imagine my disappointment
When I finally reached the top

And felt the bottom of the jar lid.

I remember the first burn on my lips
You said the way I handled it was no less than
Impressive
I was 17
The fire down my throat
Left a permanent loss of control
Let me never forget
For at the bottom every bottle
Lies the reason I can't stop drinking

For some reason, I'm still standing here.
But for a while, I thought I couldn't, after
Dosages after
Cold sweats after
Pale face after
Thin skin after
Snot noses after
Bold threats after
Pinned wrists, but
I'm alive to fight another minute
With my chin forever pointed toward the trees
Because I never had a disease...


A disease had me.

Always root for the underdog
Just don't ever root for me
Because mama did raise a fool
And no good is all I'll ever be.

Somedays, I feel it swallowing me.
******* me down like a half-priced, happy hour, fruity ******* drink.
Somedays, I can't even find the top or bottom or inside or out.
Like my Grandpa with his first iPod.
Somedays, I feel it shouting at me, "You're not better than this".
You sound just like my mother.
Somedays, I give in to it.
Like we're in a thumb war, and it's the 8th grade bully with mutant steroid fingers.  

Then I remember.
It's just my bed.
And it's really time for me to wake up.

Baby girl, you’re at an age where boys are smirking and staring down your shirt. Before you mistake perverted spurts for flirting, I want you to make sure that your first time isn’t blurry. His words will emerge like something unheard of, and you’ll drink it in until you’re tongue-tied and stirred up, but baby girl, don’t you dare get ******* up and love drunk. I know those muscles are ***** and buffed-up, but you deserve better than some punk in a pick-up. Some chump will try to hush your “I don’t think I’m ready”, so you better speak up louder before things get too heavy. Some hands will hold you, and some hands are deadly. When your hands get too sweaty because you feel unsteady, you push him away because you are a lady. Most guys are shady and will try to degrade you, but you throw back grenades, because that’s how I raised you. You will crave space and he will crave lace, but don’t you ever forget you are not any boy’s playmate. You are not a buffet. You are not a hair-sprayed, bleach blonde cliche. You are graceful, my angel, and anything but plain.  So don’t ever feel like you’re only halfway. When you feel outweighed by the brave girls in tight jeans, remember you’ve got a heart that is just bursting at the seams. These social scenes and dreamy teens are nothing in the scheme of things, so don’t be intrigued by the idea of being the reason for all the senior boys’ wet dreams. Don’t be deceived by how carefree and fun *** seems to be. It is a big deal, and it should always mean something. So feel free to flee if it doesn’t quite feel right. See, when mama thinks of her first time, she kind of loses her appetite. I lost a part of my life to a guy who only loved me part-time. While my mind was being silenced by the liquor, he climbed on top and defied the boundaries of his zipper. So baby girl, if your hips and wrists are ever pinned, don’t you dare give in like your mama did. I forbid you to quit, because I taught you to fight until you win, and I’ll be ****** if you ever have to cry alone like I did. Life is a big bully with big fists, and sometimes you’re going to take a blow to the ribs, but when that happens, you spit the blood on the cement and say, “Hit me again”. Other times, you’re going to feel like you’re too big for this world, like your skin is stretched too thin, but you’re still my baby girl... you’re still just a kid. A kid with knobby knees and sob stories. You’re still small and naive and the thought of you growing makes mama uneasy. But one day, you’ll leave me, and I’ll let you free, because I have to believe that you’re nothing like me. You are everything beautiful in this world that I raised you to be.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the valleys of the threads of my dark grey sweater that smells like stale cigarettes.
Where everything is soft like worn leather but everything feels like splinters.
It’s disappointing, isn’t it? The air is thick as smog but it’s easy breathing because you’re used to it. You can close your eyes or open them, either way, it’s dark.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the nooks of my wrists that are dry like chapped lips.
Where blood runs in thin lines like dental floss but everything stings like cavities.
It’s very sad, isn’t it? The ground lacks love but only hatred tends to it because it’s the only inhabitant that lingers. In these parks, self loathing grows like weeds.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the dark alley ways of the unfamiliar city in my thoughts that only spark interest at night.
Where everything is cold like noses in wintertime but everything makes you sweat.
It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it? The pavement is slick like it’s just rained, but you walk steady because implied tightropes are inevitable. Stumbling on sidewalks is a lot like slurring your speech.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the basement of my throat that burns like a shot of whiskey.
Where words jam like friday’s traffic but everything flows like fabrication.
It’s disgusting, isn’t it? The walls are closing like big velvet curtains but you plaster them with paintings to make them pretty. This room was always born for being decorated.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into every locket. Into every liquor cabinet. Into every favorite pair of jeans. Into every corner. Into every attic. Into every cave. Into every town. Into every ocean. Into every promise. Into every secret. Into every open end.
Where everything echos like empty hearts.
Because all I’ve ever known is silence, and for you I’ll never tell my tale.