I’m not here. You see that girl? She’s not me. Just flesh and bones and blood and tears, not a girl. No. Not really.
I’m not really here. I’m at home. I’m in my room and it’s Spring. It’s warm in here and I’m playing a record. I still have the bunkbed I don’t appreciate. I’m playing a record and laying on my bunkbed that I don’t appreciate, trying to read the lyrics to the song before “The Guns of Brixton,” but I’m too tired and the seduction of my fluffy white blanket is too great. It’s so soft and comfy and smells like childhood. The yellow incandescent light from the sun through the closed shade is warm and comforting. I close my eyes and succumb to the sounds of the Clash and my breath and I drift to sleep. I’m not here, I’m there. I’m warm and happy. So happy that I want to cry. I just want to cry, leak emotion. I think about where I am. Where I really am, not this place. I think until it hurts and then I think some more. Until I’m numb. If I think hard enough, as hard as I can, I might just slip away, slowly fading to nothing. . .
and i was supposed to have friends
growing up
in connecticut.
that’s what the storybooks
and the cartoons
and the made for tv disney movies
say.
kids have best friends
lifelong friends.
friendships that last the four years
that you’ve been in school.
known them your whole life
and not exaggerating.
kids build forts
in the woods down the street
to run away to
when your parents won’t let you stay out
past eight.
kids break stuff
and get in trouble together
and getting in trouble is ok
as long as you’re in it together.
kids have sleepovers
campouts
birthday parties.
i was alone
on weekends
tagging along with my sister and her friends.
“You can go if you bring your sister”
the frustration
and anger
and threat
in my sister’s eyes
after my mother turns her back.
i was alone
on summer break
playing nintendo
wishing for summer camp
for forts in the woods
for a birthday party at the beach
with someone my age
not my mom’s friends.
i was alone
at recess
always walking along
that same strip of curb
back and forth
to and fro
testing my balance.
once i fell
on purpose
and i scraped my knee.
and i was supposed to have friends
growing up
in bristol.
i was supposed to have friends
but i was too quiet
my socks days old
and my soul
too big
to bear.
Sometime hold an ice cube in the palm of your hand, in your fist. It numbs you makes you cold, unfeeling. You’re not even there. But then you cry. The water runs out of you, out of your hand, out. What was once as hard as ice melts into a lonely puddle, a lukewarm feeling of what was left. You tense up. Your muscles contract, sending a flood of it exploding out through your fingers, through the cracks that seemed to have accidentally spread open over time. You don’t know what to do, or how to clean it all up. You don’t even know where half of it went, since it’s almost invisible. You soaked up as much as possible but you just know you’ll step in some later when you have your shoes off. Oh well, though, you shrug it off because it’s nothing no nothing and you’re doing just fine thankyouverymuch. It doesn’t matter to you at all, nope, not one bit, you’ll even take off your socks HAH but secretly, deep down inside, you’re dreading walking back into that room ever again. All because of that damned ice cube. Why do you ever listen to me, anyway? Even though you know i’m right and it would have happened anyway. You just need a scapegoat is all. It’s okay, i forgive you, just never speak to me again. Why DO you listen to me..?
i see you there. you fucking piece of shit, i see you. i can always see you there.. staring at me. you worthless son of a fucking bitch, i can see you! fucking go away!! nobody wants you here, will you fucking go?!
but you won’t. you won’t fucking leave me alone. you never will, i know it, and i hate you for it. no-one can stand you, and you know it, i can see it in your eyes. your eyes give you away. i stand here, looking into your poor, pathetic little eyes. i’m staring right at you, but you won’t budge. you don’t even flinch. okay, every once in a while, but so do i, so it doesn’t count. it doesn’t matter, just like you. anyway, so i’m standing here, staring at you and your eyes. and your face. your skin. i see myself ripping it off your face, i’m delving my fingernails into your flesh, and ripping it right off your bleeding head. i feel my fingers tense up. it’s so easy to do.
i’m punching you in the face right now. oh, your head is so easy to fucking break. i’m punching you over and over, ohh, it feels so good. it feels so fucking good to finally kill you. i’ll fucking kill you! i’ll mother fucking tear you apart!! i’m brutally kicking you and punching you, you’re on the ground and bleeding, i’m fucking killing you!!! suddenly my hands are clenched tightly. my nails are almost cutting me.
look at you. you worthless fucking piece of shit. i can’t stand to look at you. but your gaze is so hypnotizing. if i look away, it won’t feel so good, it won’t feel so fucking good inside to kill you. i’m tingling.
NO!!! NOO!!!! GO AWAY!!! YOU’RE USELESS, ALL YOU DO IS RUIN MY LIFE!!! WHAT, YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO THAN MAKE ME MISERABLE?!?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH YOU!! I HATE YOU!!!!!
now i’m on the floor. i’m bleeding. no.. wait…. those are tears… i’m leaking…… i’m expelling all this pain you’ve caused me… but it’s not enough… all of this fucking pain, the ugliness inside of me that YOU’VE caused… it’s not enough…. i get up.
and there you are again. just as i suspected. you’re so predictable, you hole. you little fucking shit, you fucking shit in this whole meaningless existence you’ve created. you know, i could have been something. you fucked all of this up. you, with your ugliness you radiate like nothing i’ve seen before. look at you, you’re deformed. yes, you are, you liar. don’t you fucking lie to me, you know it just as well as i do. you just don’t want to admit it, and let me tell you, you’ve done a good job of not admitting it thus far.
but i noticed. i saw it a few months ago, i just didn’t tell you. but now i have.. and that makes it allll better, now doesn’t it? you know, i’m really glad we’ve had this talk. i think we’ve made a breakthrough here! now, here, take two and call me in the morning, mkay? good. that’s very good.
_
_
you look ill. i suppose you always did before but exaggerating it did you some good i think and don’t you come running to me when you’ve had enough. i’ll probably be gone by then. but you won’t be. i can guarantee it.
have you ever hated someone so much, you just can’t stand it? you just cannot fathom how ignorant and self-involved this person is? i can’t imagine how she got to be the way she is. it’s disgusting, utterly disgusting the way she goes around saying she hates these people, when she is exactly like them. she is exactly fucking like them!! she always said it and she didn’t know she was really just talking about herself. she’s always writing this fucked up autobiography, every single day is just a new chapter, but she just can’t face it, or maybe she only refuses. well, she knows now. i told her. i fucking told her and i didn’t mean to but sometimes these things just happen. i almost feel sorry for her. but then there i go again. that’s the whole problem. that’s the entire fucking problem, back to where it all began, this loathing, this hatred, i can’t stand it. she’s so completely obsessed and conceited she couldn’t face it, but no more. she’s going to stop talking. she doesn’t want to be this thing, this monster that she has so blindly created. no more speaking. she is mute. but she’s not. she only wishes. because she is being that monster now. i want her to shut up. make me shut up.
She sits. Thinks of things she’d rather not think of. The thought of him crosses her mind, makes her smile. The smile quickly melts, her eyes well with empty tears. She is sad. She is alone. She walks nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. Her music pounds in her head as the rain falls onto her shoulders. Her hair covers her face as she watches the pavement slip under her old sneakers like silk. She is empty, but full. Full of redundant emotions and unwanted feelings. She is useless to him, he doesn’t see her. He doesn’t see her at all. She wants him to find her. She wants apathy. Lethargy. Sleep. The Permanent Vacation. She smells rainbow. The metallic taste of sleep snaps her back to her senses. She sucks at writing.
