Hello. Goodbye. Go fuck yourself beautiful. I want to tell you nothing. But I want you to feel something. The shame of being beautiful-ugly, fat-fit, hairy-exotic-homely fuck. Fuck you inevitable, fuck you future, fuck you destiny, (How many more times can I say fuck? I don’t fucking know.) The darkest part of myself is the one that feels. That goddamn, emotional bitch.
My mind is a hot mess, pungent, strong, and smelling like grandma on a hot day. Smelling of tight silk and body odor. Keep it together. People depend on your confidence, but it’s neuroticism. They tell me I am so thoughtful. A blessed curse because I cannot help but think of everything. I am overly observant and wildly underspoken. I do not let people see my fear when I have a PTSD panic attack at 3:02 A.M. having to check, once again, all the locks on my doors and windows. People do not see my knuckles whitten as I sit in traffic realizing that I forgot to put my shoes away in their designated location, and that I will be thinking about it all day. And that, I will march straight to my shoes when I cross my threshold at home without stopping to show affection to the one I love. People don’t see the serenity and peace I feel, the zen like mastery of emptiness, when my robotic vacuum removes all the tiny, singular strands of hair that wedge between my toes, and stick to the soles of my feet, a reminder that my house is not clean enough
not clean enough
never clean enough
not clean enough
People do not see that I am scarred by a vulnerability once exposed
a naked soul that must always be clothed
because it is a messy thing,
psychotic and crazy,
and you won’t be the first to witness the wound under this armor
and you are not going to like it
because it still hasn’t healed quite right.
It’s starts like a slow hum
But then a feeling overwhelms you and the
feels more like a sickness in your stomach
and the synapses in your brain begin firing rapidly
electricly like a
zzzzst zzzzst zzzzst
You know something is happening,
but, you didn’t leave anything behind when you left
and you haven’t brought anything back with you.
But the bell goes
And whether you’re ready for it or not
she’s huffing and puffing,
wanting to spill some blood.
Who likes a clean floor anyway?
you make the fatal mistake of speaking first
which comes out sounding more like
You brace for impact,
but you’re not ready.
She won’t need gloves for the blows she’s about to deliver.
Do you even remember what happened?
silent and staring
You don’t even listen.
You don’t even know me.
When was the last time you showed me that you even cared?
The synapses in your brain are overworked
slowing to a sparking
tsz tsz tsz tsz tsz
before you short circuit
she delivers the
Do you even love me?
When your fingers grow callused
from the hard-pressed pencils
When you’re asked to read aloud
and you stumble over the words
When English feels jagged and cuts your tongue
When the redneck on the corner calls you
a towel-headed heathen
When the security at the airport searches you
because your last name has too many syllables
and you have to be hiding more somewhere
When your knees give out during the mile run
and the class goes on without you
When your white shorts bleed through
When Mama calls you lazy after your backs been broken
When the family says your brother is killer crazy
When the world is laughing at you
Smile Bitch Smile
But when your little sister
plays in your footsteps and stumbles
drowning in the laughter of the crowd