My Evidence professor told us
Testimony is not believable
Unless other facts back it up.
            That terrified me.
My word means nothing
Unless I’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs
            But I was raised to clean up
After I eat.

The chemotherapy left Dad a full head of hair,
And no one questioned his diagnosis.
Yet you search for scars on my wrists
            As if corroborating evidence is necessary
To prove I’m not ok.

Our nation was founded on the ideas of liberty and justice
And I have the right to be thought of as
            Innocent until proven guilty
Clearly you paid attention in civics
Because you hold on to this principle
With every ounce of willpower you possess.
The only thing is,

            I didn’t realize mental illness is a crime.

The faded sticker on my dresser reads I AM JESUS’ DISCIPLE
and my church hates me.
I pierced holes in my temple and set diamonds in them
I took pictures of God's image
and sent them to a man so that he could admire the beauty of creation
because I am a **** beauty
and God knows that.
Hell, he created me, right?

I have this theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum.

When I was a kid, my tongue was a permanent shade of bright pink.  Shoving as many pieces of BubbleYum into my mouth as I could fit was the epitome of happiness, and when I could fit an entire package at once I knew there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.

And I’m sure that right now if you cut me open my stomach would be a fluorescent pink, because
when I see your face in my mind as I’m sitting in class or
when your name is on my tongue before I fall asleep,
that’s what it tastes like.

Bubblegum.

But please don’t cut me open. My dissection would be too ****** anyway, and far too colorful to detect butterflies…
Because my blood runs red, white, and blue.
When I was younger my mom would always tell me that as I grew older my tastes would change.  Of course, she meant that eventually I would grow to like peas, but even though that still hasn’t happened, she was right.  

Back then red, white and blue tasted like
      hamburgers
               and apple pie
                       and baseball.  

But just recently I cut my finger –
and as I brought it to my lips I tasted
      lingonberries
               and fish and
                        skiing.


Have you ever wondered why blood tastes like metal?  It is the
SWORDS and SHIELDS
that flow through my veins,
passed down from ancestors of millennia past.  And every time I am injured it pours out in protest, those ancient warriors urging me to fight against this strange land and this strange culture.
I was born away from home, as were my parents and grandparents before me. And as I feel the shapes of foreign words in my mouth they taste like meeting an old friend. Because I’ve come to realize that my blood never ran red, white and blue.  



                                                      ­            It runs rødt, hvitt og blått.

Note to self:
Tomorrow, go back to that store that sold you today and return it.
And suggest that they install a fitting room
Or something!

Because today didn’t fit.

The arguments stitched into every fiber are just cheap
And the anger and accusations are signs of poor quality.

The first rule of shopping is to never buy something
That doesn’t fit right
And certainly don’t buy something
That causes discomfort or pain.




So make sure you get to the store before it closes.
And don’t forget the receipt.