The Joy Scribbles

The first time he says he loves you,  you ask if he remembers when you were ten and your dog died.  If he remembers the hug he gave you.  He says yes.  You tell him that was the last time a hug put you together,  and you wish you guys were ten again because 17 is a terrible age to fall in love. 

They will write about you when you are gone.  Sluggish Poetry and Lazy Flung together words  about how often you forgot to tell yourself you were important. They will remember the way you broke yourself on words  and carried yourself on one too many shots.  How you danced on tables and everyone could still see your demons. How you dragged yourself out of bed on Sunday mornings to write about Saturday nights and beer stains and cigarette burns you couldn't remember getting.  And How different that stuff was to the time when you wrote about the revolutions in your mind.  You will not be able to call them LIARS.  You will not be able to say you were not trying to kill yourself all the 6 times you crashed your car.  Only the first.  And they will say R.I.P my best friend. They will download your pictures and tag you.  They will say she was so loving deep inside and you will not be able to show them the monster that...

“ his fingers are cold on the white ridges of my hipbones. scar territory, flinch territory, missed-the-sad but-found-the-blood territory. he says, “girls like you are so hot,” and his breath is the desert wind, is a sun i cannot run from, is a waterless river, “you messy ones are always the best ones in bed,” and i actually almost laugh at it last night while the rest of the world was asleep i was lying awake counting slowly back from one thousand hoping that this time i would find the strength to say no to the darkness i am pretty for an ugly girl. i am cute for someone so broken. i am almost worth the high-maintenance, the texts i send in desperation, the food i won’t touch that you spent hours making, the fact i push away literally all of my friends girls like me are so hot. we are red dwarf stars. we are burning up in the sky of your sheets. we will do anything just to stop thinking. we are open fires, we are the forest turning to ashes. we have destroyed everything close...