staphysagria

I'm not sure; i. my hands don't remember how to write, and my mind isn't used to sharing - in words, at least ii. there are days when I want to cut parts of my body off; my stomach and legs and all the places girls don't like and I know what I need to do to be well; sabotage iii. I have a boy who loves me and today we ran around in the garden he says I am beautiful iv. for a moment I thought my cluttered room was making my lipid stores cluttered: if I clean and clean, I'm clean and then, maybe not v. if I look at enough girls I can feel sad enough too vi. I went home and found my awards for being clever and wondered what changed,

I didn't eat today; I thought about how I had done as many things as things had been done to me, and about how other people did so much more - dear D, we fucked in a van, to the Dark Side of the Moon, people watched; you gave me chewing gum and head, you smelled like hippies and something else we talked about star-signs on the river, I'd never seen the city like that before your room had a shrine and we slept in sleeping bags; I never felt safe with you - R, I loved you for two years, it was a different type of love, we wrote each other letters and I still have a picture of us in a drawer, somewhere sandwiched between letters and p

I felt guilty about it -- typing instead of writing, I mean, and there was something else something I tried to type out before I couldn't - it was about how two people lost something no, not lost, it was taken, I suppose although they had no choice sometime past 0800 Wednesday morning I wrote about how she remembered wearing a blue gown; it tied at the front and she had to wear the silliest shoes they kept falling off there were other girls in the waiting room, one was alone and had pretty cheeks and white hair but the other girl - the one with the silly shoes, she saw the circle on the screen a second time, and he had to wait out

another time, we split the sheets I drew angry words, asking something to hurt me and where it went wrong, and all the rest you said you were angry when you said it; you were honest you love me in the morning, too tired to know better though I told you do to otherwise and there are things we wish I could be: nothing that I am and everything I don't know how to become the page said hurt me, hurt me hurt me but I promised I never would, and so it goes I found photos of the other girl the one who makes you happy, the one who fits like I never could - make it stop make me better

one: we kissed while watching propaganda you never spoke to me again two: it wasn't really fun, just confused you know that three: I loved you so much, and still do but there was nothing there four: I still think of you, no-one ever fit me so well I tell myself it couldn't work but maybe it's because you're older it never bothered me five: I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to fuck a man who left condoms around the room and prayed to three different gods one day I will visit you in prison six: please, be more like four than three

I went for a run before midnight passed a dancing class for old friends and a school with mannequins the bus stop was covered in blood but I could barely see for crying I've worn this shirt four days in a row mother only wore it once; wringing it around my thumbs I wondered why I was so upset

I will not write about wanting the world to stop so I can build a bridge; mend that little sore on the back of your neck I am not broken and words and words in circles on pictures mean nothing to me but the other night when I curled into a ball and forgot to fight - as always- when you said: "I'm not sure I can keep doing this" my response was: "is there something wrong with me?"

he watches that show every night, about film and films and how the world is just about beauty and stories I do not know how I feel.

tonight I am going to write, with copper in my belly and a monsoon outside my window about how I will be forever not-quite-myself, because I never was in the first place i. you said you wanted dialogue, dialogue without madness or brooding 'I freeze' nothing to say, nothing to think, empty empty ii. 'one thinks best in the shower' so I tried and thought just about how I cannot think what is wrong with me iii. and I need to talk to someone; I cannot drive miles in this car without someone to revive me iv. maybe I cannot think about things the way you do I curl into a ball and shut myself out in the garden v. I can neither spea

I tried to find a poem for you but all I found were words that spoke about flowers, and growing old and nothing that suited you one spoke about a lighthouse and a dog dying and one described your eyes blue-silk like moonlight and there were those in languages I couldn't speak except for one, that said as well as I ever could I love you.