I'm Here to Collect the BodyMature


if i was shy when i was young,
a tiny slip of a thing,
then what am i now,
with my scarves?

well, it's more like scars,
playing spin the bottle with these marks
as if i could make the wound better
with a kiss

it's like how parents always pretend
that a kiss could take all the pain away

well, if that was true,
then kissing a girl when i was thirteen
ought to have erased the tear in my chest

but it didn't

and so i re-attack,
with this knife
as though i could carve
the messed up parts of myself
out of my skin

we are the poisoned youth,
yes we are,
we drink vodka and arsenic,
hoping to die with alcohol thrumming in our veins

but alas,
we're only patched up by tired best friends
or taken to the hospital
and sat down in a white room next,
forced to talk to a woman who doesn't care

after all, if i can't pretend to be able to love
when i'm high as a kite and breathing,
then how does anyone expect me to do this

i feel like i'm being broken in by life
as though it thinks i'm a horse

i wish i was

at least then if i broke my leg i'd be put down

not dosed with the medicine that contains bleach
that our society calls therapy

The End

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