i got drunk last night, eight beers too deep,
preaching streetlight gospels about the benefits & drawbacks
of rocky mountain air,
we stayed up past the stars & showed off scars, told scary stories
that we really wish we had just made up in the first place,
killed apathy with a flyswatter, splattered its guts all over
the coffee table outside
and come to think of it, we didn't even end up saying much anyway.
my mother used to tell me secrets, secrets of science, secrets diagnosed
by doctors from ikea furniture catalogues,
secret bits of diluted reality with my toast for breakfast, genial omens
in my aluminum lunch box--
it wasn't until tenth grade that i learned that some secrets are just sickness,
and psychology textbooks seem a lot less appealing
when they start to sound real.
it's hard to remember if death threats were dramatic ironies
or just empty promises,
but i'll tell you that nowadays i nurse the idea over a cup of tea at noon
i'd like to think i can at least be sober when i need to be.
i heard it, the quiver in your voice, so soft like a schoolgirl,
like my mother,
like you were afraid that weeds would sprout instead of rose petals
from the cracks in the sidewalk;
that paranoid schizophrenics were shooting dime size groupings into the
dark silhouette of a woman;
that one day you'll forget which pill does what
& end up getting high by accident
because soon you're worried that it'll be the highlight of your day.
i'm still not sure if i meant it:
the most beautiful thing you can do with your life is kill yourself
before you get too hideous to want to.
it sounds bad, but no matter how hard i try, i can't help but hate the hunch
in the back of atlas;
my mother, she gets tired too sometimes, but there's a thin line between
responsibility & a cage,
and don't forget the bills, the dishes are dirty dancing in the kitchen sink,
the kids are starving & it'll all be the same in the morning.
i swear, most of the time it's too easy to hate the world
for making you try so damn hard.
it's been four years since i've told anyone how badly i wanted to die,
yes, we're all a little fucked up, you said
but all the best people are
and we didn't even end up saying much, but the silence said it all.
no one ever told you that dandelions can be flowers too, they grant wishes
& always could keep a better secret than i
and i wish i could tell you, but there are some things
you just need to learn on your own;
so stay golden, darling, drift lightly with the breeze
& you will bloom in the sun again.