i.   My mother's elbows. They
     are too sharp and they twitch
     in the direction of your ribs
     when you invade
     her personal space.

ii.  Needing anything too much. Cutting
     or writing or even
     my own friends.

iii. Fast rides down mountains. I
     remember each one, looking
     out the window, wondering if
     tonight was the night
     finally we would go
     plunging over the tiny
     railing.

iv. Gangs of little kids. Don't
     tell me they don't know
     what they are doing. Children
     are cruel.

v.  Metaphors of fists raining down
     all over your body. I'm
     sorry, I cannot listen
     to your metaphors, when
     they make my skin tingle and
     my hackles raise and
     my heart play out the dance
     of old fears.

vi. Anyone having leverage. Too
     many times, showing caring
     for a thing has seen it
     confiscated. Also, anyone knowing
     I care at all.

vii. Discovering that the scars gifted
      to me are not healed and
      long car rides and
      her elbows and
      cruel children and
      impending addictions and
      openly loving and
      your metaphors make
      me bleed along
      old fault-lines.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Why are we here, why must we be, i will never know, i will never see, life is meaningless some must say, but we reach and we reach everyday, reaching for what is the true question, sure money will make you smile but so will affection, family and friends will make you laugh and cry, but the unfortunate part is that we all must die, sure religion gives us a pure sense of hope, but in the end we all are broke, hearts are broken, bones are broken, but in the end we all get a different token.

"Girls shouldn't smoke"
I'm sorry sir, say that again?
Tell that to the 15 year old hispanic girl who sold her virtue under the guidance of the traffic lights to pay off her mother's cancer bills.
Tell that to the wife of a man who
beat
beat
beats her, because some nights she refuses to kneel at his supposed genital altar and confess her sins.
Tell that to the girl who has spent 6 months carving her home address into her forearms,  hoping that her Mum would smell the rust and come and rescue her.
Tell that to the girl who was stolenshackleddruggedsold under the consent of her father who used her body as a paycheck to settle his blackjack debt.
To the lonely girl. The ugly girl. The fat girl. The anorexic girl.  The bulimic girl.  The girl.
"Girls shouldn't smoke."
Tell that to the women who find their prayers in the daily grace that is, nicotine.
Just like men do.