High School Socks

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

Mr. Jones

We have this obsession with bigger and better.
Acting like every friendly face is a Mr. Jones that has to be beat,
It’s no wonder we fight wars over peace.

Because we live each day as a competition,
Committing crimes against humanity to stand on a shattered glass floor
That won’t possibly hold our weight.

In public places we get measured to fit the all-American dream
to an inflexible mold that won’t stretch to fit the oddness of real people.
Compare each stranger’s accessories - cell phone, leather shoes, and boyfriend to our own.
Taking a hit for our own egos brewed from someone else’s pain,
Because it’s on a team of one we play.
No collaboration in a game where there are no winners,
But everyone stands to gain nothing;
An empty void we’ll try to fill with flashy cars and neon lights.
It’s not until we hear the wonder in a child’s voice that we’ll ever find fulfillment.

‘Cause love doesn’t care about bank balances and anti-aging creams.
It feeds off modesty,
and truth-telling,
and the warmth between the spaces of “I adore you.”

Life is about more than who’s got what,
Running on a treadmill to catch up with the race
And defining your worth by the pages of a magazine

Value doesn’t come vacuum-packaged in a cardboard box stamped BUY ME!
It’s not found in what they try to sell you -
No matter how sparkly the packaging, all that glitters is not gold.

But some of it is.
And what I can see shinning is the beauty in your heart.
Your you-ness just waiting to be free of the constraints the world has tried to place upon it.

Throw down the designer gauntlet.
Wage war on the hypocrisy they try to play.
Because you’re gorgeous no matter who you are,
and they just want you to forget it.