Keys. Shoved through the letterbox
before I got up-
in an envelope with a note:
Could I (please) feed the cat…
Gone away? Good for her!
Car on the drive. Took a taxi. I think.
To the airport? Didn’t say.
******* with rain-
still, had best leave my shoes on the step just the same.
Obsessed with cleanliness and hygiene-
that’s why he left.
Who, in their right mind, puts cream-coloured carpet in a…?
Door. Not locked. Nearly fell through it.
Strange. She forgot?
Kitchen. Freezer’s empty, switched off.
No cereal. No tins.
Utility room. Spotlessly clean-
twelve! two-kilogram bags of Go-Cat Complete.
Planning to be gone quite a while. I think.
Playroom. Packed up. Kids staying with Nan.
She wants to redecorate before they come home?
Great. A fresh start. I think.
Bedroom. Suitcase on the wardrobe.
Bought a new one? Smaller. Lighter perhaps.
Makes sense. After all- she is travelling alone. I think.
Bathroom. Pristine. Almost empty.
Almost. Macleans and a toothbrush,
in a glass on the sill.
I didn’t think about that.
Until now.

COOL TENTS WITH HOT FOOD
From the 10th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.

Finally, the day Smoochy and I had been waiting for had arrived. It was Saturday the 7th of March. The day we were heading off to the, 89th Boy Scouts & Girl Guides, combined World Jamboree. The jamboree was held this year in the Nevada desert in Las Vegas, USA.

My dad Archie, was the local scout leader for the Shimmerleedimmerlee 1st scout group and my mum Flo, was second in charge of the Barefeet Mountain 3rd Girl Guide group. Mum's friend was the Barefeet girl guides leader and she was named, Miss Alice Springs. Dad was making the trip with other local scout leaders and 11 of us boys. Mum and Miss Alice Springs were taking 11 girls from the local Barefeet Mountain girl guide group, including my two much older identical twin sisters, Emma and Jemma. Also coming along was my much younger brother, Lemmy and of course my grouse pet mouse, Smoochy.

Dad has been in the local boy scout group since he was very young and his father, John Lemmon, my grandfather, was also in the same scout group when it first began, all of those years ago.

There were boy scout and girl guide groups from all over the world attending the big camping and adventure event. People from far away places like Norway, France, Egypt, Australia, Holland, England, Brazil, Thailand, Hong Kong, Italy and of course the host nation, the United States of America.

Every group, brought with them their home nations own colourful flags and individually designed tents, based on their countries culture or famous landmarks. It was like having all of the countries of the world, all in the one place at a time.

The boy scout and girl guide group from Thailand had a tent that looked like a Buddhist Temple and also had an outdoor kitchen where they would make, such great tasting, but ever so hot and spicy, food from.

The Egyptian guys and girls had a massive high tent, that resembled the world famous giant Pyramid of Giza. It must of taken them ages to make the angles so perfectly straight and with extreme precision.

Holland's tent was a large and fully operational, colourful windmill. It, even had it's very own water tank. The windmill tent was painted with colours and designs that even impressed my very artistic dad.

He said, 'He might even have to redecorate his unusually built, outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed and use some of the bright paint colours and fancy designs the boys and girls had done'.

The next tent was very big and long from the boy scout and girl guide groups of, Australia. It had been designed to look like the, Sydney harbour bridge. But it didn't have a roof to protect them from the weather, while they slept shoulder to shoulder, across the wooden bridge road. But, like most Aussies with relaxed and casual attitudes they said, 'She'll be right mate, Rain, Hail or Shine'.

The guys and gals from Italy, had a tent that was leaning over to the right, just like the, famous Leaning Tower of Pisa. They assured us all that it wouldn't fall over. 'Trust us, they said'.

Hong Kong had a very long tent that was based on the colourful, cultural inspired dragon. It had a lot of tent pegs on either side, to keep it's ever winding position in place. It was the most colourful and coolest tent of all. But at the same time, the most scariest tent of them all.

England's tent was based on the very historic, Tower of London. It even had two very serious looking guards on patrol out front, made out of paper mâché.

Norway's tent was in the shape of, a Vikings fighting helmet. It had, two large horns coming out from the left and right hand sides. It looked like a raging bull, in a bizarre sort of way.

Brazil came up with a giant yellow and green football, based on their national sport and colours of the country, for its design. All of us just hoped, 'It didn't get a sudden hole in it and start to knock over all of our tents, just like a giant pinball game'.

France went for a super, duper structure, that was wide at the bottom and became thinner towards the top. It was in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, of course. It was the tallest tent at the jamboree camping grounds and provided the best views from atop.

While the host nation the USA decided to honour the, Native American Indians. They, had a large tent resembling an original and colourful Indian Teepee, with a hole at the top. The scouts and girl guides from, the USA, sent out messages to everyone nearby, using the old, but still very effective, smoke signals way of communication. They said, 'Who needs the Internet, Facebook and Twitter, when you can send messages and cook a meal on a fire at the same time'?

After looking at all of the great tents made by all of the participating nations, we sat down to eat. Everybody had made a favourite dish from their home country. All the girl guides from Australia made the famous and delicious dessert cake called, Pavlova. But, it wasn't any ordinary Pavlova, for it was in the shape of the very large outback rock named Uluru. Which, by the way, is located in the middle of Australia, near a place called Alice Springs.

So my mum's friend has a very famous name indeed. The girl guides from Australia named this creation, 'The Alice Springs Rock'.

The Egyptians had made a dessert out of shortbread, that took them hours to make. Each piece of shortbread had to be skilfully cut, with exact precision or the creation just wouldn't stay in place. It was named, 'Pastry Plate of Pharaoh's Perfect Pyramid'.

The Italian Boy Scouts, prepared a series of huge leaning pizzas stacked on top of each other, on very acute angles, just like their tent. They named their creation, 'The Leaning Tower of Pizza'.

The host nation of the USA, made some yummy hotdogs with tomato ketchup, mustard and cheese. They made the hotdogs, pop up from each end of the roll and placed wooden sticks on either side to look like American Native Indians were rowing their canoes.

Norway had created a tasty snack made with salmon and biscuits which looked like little boats flowing down the Fjords. Also the impression of large rocks in the water that were in fact meatballs for all.

Thailand had served up several spicy dishes, including the famous Pad Thai dish with chicken and the hot soup named Hot and Sour with Prawns in Thai you pronounce it as Tom Yung Goong. It was so yummy in the tummy the dishes from Thailand.

In the Brazil kitchen they made us their nations famous Churrasco or BBQ. It uses a variety of meats like pork, beef and chicken which was cooked on large metal skewers stuck into the ground and roasted with the embers of the charcoal.

France baked up some crescent shaped flaky pastry named the Croissant. They added some great tasting almonds to a few, while some others had dried fruits such as sultanas, raisins and even apples.

Holland had an assortment of plates consisting of Gouda and Edam cheeses with mayonnaise and mustards and other plates had a rich variety of fruits, freshly cut meats and nuts placed upon them.

Hong Kong had very traditional Chinese meals prepared for all to enjoy. They had everything from fried rice, to Chinese noodles to my dads all time favourite Peking Duck, so when he saw the duck he said he was in luck. Also they had a plate full of Dim Sums and a Hong Kong favourite snack called egg tarts and another of my dads favourite drinks named milk tea.

Finally England had whipped up my Friday night special, which is Fish n Chips with tomato sauce. It was so good that a lot of the other nations said they would make it for their families, once they got home.

In the morning we had such great fun and adventure while trying every nations favourite sport or recreation. We started by having team races on the river in Native American Indian canoes, Norwegian Viking ships, Italian Gondolas, Egyptian river boats and Chinese dragon boat races in the nearby river. The winning order was Hong Kong 1st, Italy came in 2nd and third of all was Egypt.

We even had competitions to see who could do the best smoke signals and we even had fun rope climbing events to the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning tower of Pisa, and walking and climbing events up the Pyramid of Giza and the Sydney Harbour Bridge tents.

Then some countries had a football game after lunch with teams from Brazil, England, Italy and France playing for the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides World Cup golden trophy. Brazil beat England in the final 3-1, to hold up the golden cup.

Some other nations had bike riding races, which Holland won with ease. Australia did really well in the boxing competition. Everybody laughed when Smoochy came out 1st, wearing a pair of boxing gloves, before they brought out a plastic blow up of their mascot wearing gloves "Big Red" the boxing kangaroo which was placed near the ring for good luck.

Thailand dominated the Judo and the USA couldn't be stopped in the 100m sprints and also the mixed basketball matches. So overall, everyone had such a great time and we all loved the tents, food and different sports to watch and perform in, from all of the world.

The week went so fast and it was sad to say goodbye to all of our new friends from all over the world, but we promised that we would stay in touch either by using smoke signals or the new generations way, which is either by Facebook or Twitter.

The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.

The place was magnificent day or night.

By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.

By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.

We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.

i'll never write for you
after this day.
on this day
i dust you from my heart
declutter my rib cage
remove every careless remnant of you
that i kept as sentiment.
after this day
i'll redecorate my brain
with seedlings and lights
and your memory
on my mind's windowsill
will consume me no more.

The best days
Are not the Best Days
Or even the good days
They are the unremarkable
Inconsequential
Days
When you take a step away from yourself
And observe the rise and fall of a moment
From beyond its swell
When you are driving fast
Through a slow-moving night
And the headlights are smearing themselves on the roads
Like they’re trying to redecorate
And the radio is singing Yellow
And you turn your head out the window
To find a moon hung there
Blue-tacked to the infinity of sky
As thick and yellow as your grandmother’s smile
Or when it is winter and the sun has set
But the world doesn’t want the day to be over
And so pulls a musty, mustardy-grey blanket
Right up to its neck and prays
That the time for streetlights
Will insist on running ahead of it
Or when the shadows grow long in summer
And they fall like dust on the sand dunes
You run down to the sea
And try to hold it in your hands
Until the tide prises it from your clenching fingertips
Or when the sunrise is pink
And the cloud caps skid
Like ice-creams on hot plates
And you can’t help but bask in
The creativity of God
The painter
Who’s masterpiece could simply not be framed
And hung on your kitchen wall
And for a little while you want to be able
To lick the colours and candyfloss
Until someone says that little rhyme
About red sky in the mornings
And a shepherd’s warning.

a follicle of light is falling from the house of our master
troubadours warp our imagination
with jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
slaves and slaveholders, slews of cattle
ranchers, and fathers battle
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
in piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand but man still demands his fate
so redecorate your cottages and receive the visitor's hate
make music burst throughout the garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch your bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than the skyscrapers bound to her posterior

when someone leaves you, reinvent yourself.
redecorate your soul with reds and pinks this time, instead of blues and greens.
pull the tangled weeds he left in your crevices, and plant as many flowers as you can think of in their place.
hang beautiful lights and magnificent paintings in replacement of his stupid poster of his favorite band that you never even liked.
paint your mind with vibrant colors that make your heart beat quickly.
and remember to never, EVER let anyone take these things away from you.

"Every woman can have a husband... But not every woman can have a lover."**

I quoted this from my favorite author. This is really open my eyes. There are differences between husband and lover.

"A lover is just like paintings... When you bought it and put it on the wall, all you want is redecorate your room to make the room follow the beauty of the paintings.''


"And a husband is just like when you want to buy a table. You came to the store with geometry terms, and you bought the one by the money you have and after you count will it be fit in your room.''

And there is come this quote from different writer, ''I separate my body and my soul. You can only choose one, either my body or my soul..''

Hold me here until I fall asleep, for I'm terrified, Oh am I terrified.
Of all the uncertainties, of the un thought ofs.
I have too much time on these idle hands and I surely wish I could shake this habit.
I'm too young to imagine what it would be like if everything around me suddenly ceased to exist.
Hello, Stranger it's been so long since I've seen your smiling face and now look at your son, look how far he hasn't come. Aren't you proud of your baby boy?
Lost in a familiar place, nothing connects in my mind.
Tell me everything will be ok and I'll still wander with my thoughts.
I'm so unsure of everything, that I'm unsure of myself
I'm so unsure of everything, that I'm unsure of myself.
And all the words I know to be true are silenced.
Break these chains that hold me. These doubts that cause me to feel so scared.
Cut these ropes that tie me down. These words in the back of my head that cause me so much grief.
Deconstruct these walls that have boarded me up in this windowless prison.
Rip apart the floors, burn the foundation, and start again. Start... again.
Inside out, outside in.
Renovate and redecorate. Throw my insecurities to the wind, for I do not need them.
How much life is gained from the needless worry I embody?

I’ve always thought that buildings are like graveyards for memories;
The dead preserved between walls like flowers pressed in pages,
The lost parts of our selves hung up like portraits or calendars; Reminding us of our lives.

I’ve taken to wondering about why we got our kitchen re-done
While we let the rest of our house fall apart
And I think I’ve found the answer.

We don’t want to remember our dead.

Over the summer we striped back the tiles
And painted the walls with sunshine;
The washing machine and the microwave migrated
And the floor space receded
To make way for all our cupboards to be empty.
We dragged the evidence out into the yard
And scribbled over it like it was a spelling mistake.

The kitchen was the room where we’d all died several times over
And so the cemetery had to be uprooted and annihilated
Before we began to smell the decay of the past versions of ourselves.
We had to prise mould from the corners
And resolutely redecorate the place where Anorexia had been most prominent.

It was ironic really

That this purge was to rid ourselves of Anorexia When purging had, so frequently, been a means of feeding it.

It was pointless really

Because the kitchen might have been the part of the house that got bombed the most heavily by my brother’s eating disorder
But it was not the only room with bullet holes punching through the paintwork.
Each wall is avalanched away by postcards and snapshots and letters home
That my fourteen-year-old -self framed with fear and anger and hate.

What my home means to me is the bed I saw my mother howling on
And the scales my brother teetered on
And the doorway my father swore from.
When I see the painting on my brother’s wall
I think not of art but of a children’s hospital
And when I see my blue bean bag
I think not of film-watching but of the practise of crying tearlessly.

We know a family who lived in the same little Mental-Illness-Bubble that we did.
“We’ve still got the lamp shade that she threw her plate of tomato pasta at,”
They say whenever we see them.
“We have a good laugh about that,”
And they explain the way they deal with their history
Like the person who taught them optimism did a better job with them than ours did with us.
We’re four cynics crouching under one roof
Like we’d rust in the rain that we miser over.
Unable to move on.
We attempt but it is too hard, too rigid, too stiff.
My joints have more titanium than my grandmother’s –
No, not titanium; lead.
Every time I try to step away from anorexia
I find that there is too much grit behind my patella,
Too much debris lodged between my brittled bones.
Debris that’s left over from all the toxins and dirt and tears that I couldn’t manage to cry.

I hug myself on the staircase and wonder
How many years it will be before I can watch the front door without watching for dying Crane Flies.
How many times must I sit opposite my brother before I can forget sitting opposite a skeleton?
How long will it take to stop seeing ***** stains in the toilet and the writhing veins in my brother’s arms?

I’m waiting for the day when we can throw away blood-stained lampshades
And remember instead how, as children, we threw paper aeroplanes down these stairs.

It was always my brother’s plane that flew the furthest.

I've been dreaming about the sun
as far back as one and two.
I've been redecorating my resting place for twenty-one years.
But a grave is a grave is a grave is a grave
no matter the time it takes
to masquerade
my brave.
I've never been brave enough to face the light of day.
I've lived by reflected light.
It easy to stare at the moon by eyesight.
How do I stare at the sun with eyesight?

you came
to me past twilight and watched me redecorate.
I planted flowers in the grave.
but a grave is a grave is a grave is a grave
no matter how many flowers bloom at midnight.
(None of them did)
What then changed?

I took off the mask and let you open the door
and now
The light from the sky floods my grave with a force of a million volts.
I am reminded of the time
I thought I would never run through fields of ultraviolets.
Today I walk out of my grave.
To the day!

To what should I be afraid?
My fields are shot with blue violets.
The roots rip open grounds
as buds blossom with violence.
To what should I be afraid?

Today, because of you,
a grave is not a grave.
Today, because of you,
I wake up to the sun.
I'm staring at the sun without eyesight.
I love you
I feel the warmth of sunlight.

but at least in all of this you learned that you have to build your roads on today because tomorrow is too uncertain for plans
and for some reason futures always have this horrid way of crashing down mid-flight and you learn that loving somebody doesn't always mean they love you
and that kisses are not contracts to stay
and presents aren't promises
and you learn to pick the pieces of him that are left in your veins out without cutting open your wrists again
and you learn to redecorate your own soul, throwing out the wilted flowers he left behind and planting your own
and you recognize how strong you are
and you're beautiful
and you really do have worth
you learn to love yourself first.

So let me redecorate myself then

With your love

To see why you look at me

The way you do

a follicle of light is falling
from the house of midnight
troubadours wrap our imagination
in jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
like piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand
but man still demands his fate
redecorate your cozy cottages
and receive your visitors' disguised hatred
make music burst throughout this garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch her bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than those burning skyscrapers bound to her posterior

They told me I could be
anything that I wanted to be
So I picked a picture,
Putting the pieces together;
Worked hard.

Now,  I'm here where I wanted to be;
Seeing the whole picture.
It's all worth it.. or maybe not.
Maybe I could redecorate.
Maybe I could be something more.

Tired, I went to bed.

The next morning, I woke up, and everything was on fire.

You're so beautiful he said,
So beautiful to the point that I want you dead,
Preserved for eternity,
Forever in my bed,
Let me shower you with kisses from your head down to your neck,
Slowly descending from your belly back up to your breast,
Being careful not to pull at the thread,
Her screams only seemed to please the monster he was with ease,
His animalistic nature was dangerously appeased,
They say every beauty needs her beast,
I preserved her beauty for only my eyes to see,
Her ruby red lips matched the crimson coloured walls,
I wore white that night,
He said it signified my purity,
Her story rewritten in red,
The brunette was dead,
But now a puppet she stood for the man to bed,
Beauty on the outside,
She felt amazing on the inside,
Her body so taut,
I wish she could spread wider,
So that all of me may fit inside her,
Kisses and hickies,
My body is wet and bruised,
Forever his..
Never to leave this room...
I pull the strings tighter,
She must sit still while I redecorate inside her,
Moving quick then slow to the beat,
Taking slow strokes so that I may venture deep,
Oh how I wish she could spread wider,
But the strings are about to break...
I turned 21 that day...
He said I was the perfect age,
Forever young he wanted me,
Forever young I shall stay.

My paint swells with blisters
these white walls whimper
tears create
a vision
a pattern
paintings on the canvas.
But no matter what the poet’s might say
not all pain is beauty to the eye
and mine
blisters and burns and cracks
like my bedroom walls in my childhood house.
No matter if you paint me over and over
or place a rug over carpet stains
or add a frame when you redecorate
building a collage on the wall over time
my paint will still blister.

pain decorated by dim lights
dancing across your face
It’s a shame that I am in other places now
seeing faces of strangers and feeling more welcomed than ever before
a past love once knocked on my door
greeting me with cold roses meant to last forever
she must have forgotten I am a volcano
flowers do not grow upon me easily
it is not easy to breath in my presence
my self destruction will bring an unsettling heat that you can not handle
because sometimes even I can’t
I know that I have been dormant for some time
I just pray you don’t stay for my eruption
I would hate for my pain to redecorate a place you once called home

I hate it like this
Halfway between the fiery hot sun beaming in my chest and the frigid ice water of my head
Sloshing around, numbing as it trickles down through every layer of me
This is home
This heavy hearth built of sturdy bone
Foundations parallel in the habitual nature of its inhabitant

You managed to walk through my front door, and come to own everything that is me
You settle into my home as if you have been here from the start
I need you like I need the sun
You kiss my skin softer than the sun could ever caress me
So why am I torn
Why does it have to be a choice
Do I let my ice cold conscious flood my home, drowning out the warm passion of your sun
Or do I burn and blister, my calloused skin sinking into the seat that is my deflated lungs
Gasping for dry scorched air underneath you and your flaming presence

And as I choose my poison I wonder
Maybe there is only space for my head or my heart
Maybe only one can be my roommate
Home or hell
Home and hell
Home in hell
Hell in home
I’m sorry I let you in
Maybe we can redecorate

KG

I was born a clean slate. An empty house. I watched everyone around me decorate my walls as they wanted to see them. They filled my cupboards and organized my closet for me, filling it with words and feelings I never understood. It got to the point where I felt more confused than comfortable, and so empty - even with all of these things that life had filled me with. So I got angry. I tried over, and over again to redecorate. I put up new wallpaper everyday, I burned rooms to the ground. I locked doors, I broke windows.

And then I found my people, and they told me that I was lovable even as this filthy, dark house. With paint peeling, and cobwebs in every corner.

I started to rebuild, I put up art that made me feel things. And wrote poetry on my walls. Every moment I spent with my new people, and myself, I was sent home with a new piece of my house to put together.

And now Im here. The floors need to be redone, and it still smells of smoke, but its mine. And who I am is not a ***** word, I wear all of my labels as a full, connected human being.

This is mine
These crumbling walls,
Peeling paint
And faded gold statues
You put here
And it is mine,
I place flowers in every crack,
Spill dyes of the rainbow across all the walls,
You track mud across my floors and tell me to take better care
Of my temple
I scrub the floors as you leave
And look up at paintings I never loved
Taking them down, I sigh at the detailing on their frames,
See, I can appreciate how hard it is to make something
Even when I don’t like it
Someone else loved these paintings, I’m sure,
So do not come in here and condemn me
For taking them down
I am not destroying anything, this place is destroying itself
I cannot stay in a this building when it is falling apart,
Let me fix it
Leave me and let me fix it
I know how to build, let me fix it
Let me fix it
Let me fix it
I don’t care,
I don’t care,
Stop saying my body is a temple
When you do not see the damage done to it,
You cannot judge me wanting something done about it
I am not sick, I am not crazy, I am not out of my mind
I don’t care how beautiful you think it is,
I am breaking down
This is not a sickness.
This is a desire to redecorate.
Because this is not your temple.
This is mine.
These crumbling walls,
Peeling paint
And faded gold statues
You put here.
And it is mine to repair.

I.
In kindergarten arts & crafts,
a classmate called my project ugly.
Honestly, it looked like *****-
too much glue, not enough tissue paper.
But I should've torn up his artwork
instead of mine.

II.
In first grade, not knowing how
to process emotions, I knocked a girl over
when she kissed me on the cheek.
I also called her ugly. She wasn't
and I didn't wash my face for a week.
Her arm, broken from the accident,
was in a cast for much longer.

III.
In fourth grade, math stumped me.
I just couldn't master my times tables
like all the other kids. I broke
a pencil every time I felt stupid.
I seemed to have nothing but broken pencils.

IV.
In 1994, Jack Kirby died.
He created my favorite character, the Hulk.
I missed my opportunity to write him
a thank you letter for a hero I could relate to.

V.
In sixth grade, the school play:
it was just a small role but ****!
I wanted to be flawless, rehearsed relentlessly.
I got so nervous I threw up on stage.
Everyone laughed.
I earned the name Puke Face.

VI.
When I was 15, dad left us.
He explained that he found a new woman
to start a family that he could love.
He never apologized.
I punched a hole in my wall
wishing it was his face.

VII.
I should've tried to make more friends.
But I wanted more time for tv and comics.

VIII.
Despite diligent studying,
I failed yet another math test.
I don't remember hitting my locker that hard
but school fined me for destruction of property.

IX.
There will always be bullies.
I thought I deserved the teasing
so I didn't stand up to them.
Except one... sort of.
I killed his dog.

X.
My grandparents always wanted to see me.
I was just too busy or
they lived too far away.
Now I miss them and they're gone,
so much further away than they've ever been.

XI.
I don't think I saw my therapist long enough.

XII.
I should've started exercising sooner.

XIII.
Every time hunger ******* foresight
and I ate off a taco truck.
Would superman ever eat Kryptonite
because it smelled good in a corn tortilla?

XIV.
How long did members of the Manhattan Project
relish in their pride before the fallout of regret?
You are the most beautiful thing
I've ever been a part of.

XV.
Sometimes I just don't know how to cope.
Sometimes I just get angry.
I try meditation and yoga,
I try to find my Zen.
But like Bruce Banner something green
and ferocious rages inside of me.
Sometimes I need to smash.
Sometimes I need to feel your skull crack
beneath my knuckles.

XVI.
Rip the plaster off the walls of a temple,
it's still a temple, still holy
still beautiful.
I'm sorry for how these fists
try to redecorate your face, for the ugly
colors they try to paint over your beauty.
But maybe
if you weren't so **** beautiful
I could feel like I deserved you,
wouldn't be reminded of things I am not
every time you smile at me; maybe
if you were just a little bit damaged, I
wouldn't feel so broken.
I'm sorry for how my hands say I Love You.

XVII.
I should have never let you stay.
How did you love me?

XVIII.
I'm sorry that all I have are I'm-sorrys.

XIX.
We both thought you could make me a better human.

**.
I thought your tears could wash the monster off of me.

Flat on my back,
I wonder if I should redecorate my room before I go.
If I ever have the guts to go.
Sorry, not “guts”.

Sitting up slightly,
I realise something:
If I were to go now,
I wouldn’t leave any of
my “friends” a note.
Maybe they’d wonder why they didn’t get one,
but one can’t be too hopeful in this filthy world.

Standing infront of my covered mirror,
I try to see through the blue
fog of my jumper to what they call my face.

No, I wouldn’t leave them the letters,
but I would make sure to leave my family some.