When I get up in the morning to put on my socks
I go
Left foot
Right foot
Some morning I have to go right foot, left foot
Just to stop myself from screaming at the monotony in life
Those days I live life off kilter, skip 5th period
Go down to the little cafe on Douglas and Fort
Eat my chocolat au lait and laugh
Some mornings left foot, right foot is the hardest thing I've ever had to do
Those mornings all I want is to curl back into the cocoon of my bed-
Dream away the world.
But I go left foot, right foot
and after putting on my socks I put one foot in front of the other
doing this thing called walking that's a lot harder than it sounds
when all you can hear is laughter at every mistake
All you can see are the sneers of your classmates, blocking your vision so you run into wall after wall
And heat from the branded labels is burrowing under your skin.
When walking is more like marching to a drum with no tune that relentlessly drives on
All I want to do is shout STOP, and crumple to the ground in final defeat,
but the drumming drones on - marching me to my grave.
Every knife an invitation
Every liquor bottle temptation
A pitiful voice from the once-me begs, "Run."
"Run while you still have legs to carry you
Run from the blackness that cloaks you.
Run ... Run"
but there's no where to go when the demon's inside you
There's dried flakes of crimson blood underneath my fingernails
From where I scratched at my sides
Trying to get that demon out.
Because this isn't me.
I'm not some dehumanized thing
who doesn't smile, can't laugh, and cries like the seas need a new source of salt.
I used to be somebody's daughter -
I used to be somebody's lover -
I used to be somebody's friend -
but I got taken over by this infection
and it's eating it;s way up my heartstrings so it can plunge my heart into the hydrochloric acid pit of my stomach,
And I'll melt
Like the Wicked Witch of the West, but from the inside out.
My hands are black, blue, and the dark kind of purple that used to be my favorite but now just means pain.
I've been beating my fists against the cold iron cage I built for myself
The foundation laid in bad decisions, the walls of bars with gaps of hope not large enough for me to get out,
the ceiling locked down with the finality of recognition -
this is my life.
I am walking down the middle of a tollway
with cars racing by on either side and I'm praying for one to take me down
So that maybe, maybe
someone speeding by in their fancy car will see my broken soul and dial 9-1-1
The wail of the ambulance will be my lullaby, rocking me to sleep
So i can have sweet dreams of nurses
cool ice for my bruises
and a surgeon's suture stitches that will piece me back together
