You smell like grade six

The grade I hated the most.
The year that tarnished my simpleness.
The year I asked all the wrong questions,
      and got all the right answers.

The year of lies and fake friends.
The year I thought would be the best for me,
      but turned out so wrong.
The year the darkness started.

Man, you remind me of grade six
    in more ways than one.
Thankfully that year is history
   and I've long since graduated.
Graduated to something much better

99 bottles of emotion on the wall
they're all full to the brim
sometimes the get shaken up
but they seldom get opened up and poured out
except when dumped on the pages of this notebook

I'm scared to pick up the phone because if it was you I couldn't get someone to lie and say I am in the shower.
If it was you I would have to decide if I wanted you the truth,
to ask you why it got like this
It scares me that although I seem so sure that I'm okay to ignore you, that I don't need you,
it still bothers me that you haven't talked to your daughter in over a month.
Did you even care at all or did you just feel obligated because I'm one of your kids?
Are you just occupied with other people now, so you don't have to go to me?
And I can't call you
because I like that means you've won.
Proving that I need you or something sick like that.
That I caved first.
But I won't.

All of this is so broken
All of it.
And no one wants to cut their hands trying to pick up the pieces,
it may never get any better.

I don't even like the word never! Yet it seems so appropriate because I don't like this at all.



No
                     NO
                                           Stop this heavy hurt.

Or at least.....
                          *call your daughter

I can't say that 'h' word
because if I did it would say more about me than it would about you

It all stays bottled up inside of me
Sometimes it leaks out my eyelids
streaming out down my cheeks
Sometimes it seeps out through my pores
when I wake up in a cold sweat

Lord I know you've got my back
When my dry ground begins to crack
*you send the rain

If my poem stopped too soon
its because my page ran out of room...
when I get to the end I have so much trouble pushing onward