smile, rosemary

eighteen

her

sometimes, i think i am a blade.

the soft surfaces comes to an end
sooner than preferred and with that,
comes an edge so sharp it will make
fingers, hands, souls bleed out.

everything is defined. from the way my nose points into the air, as if in a war with the wind that tickles my ribs and brings poison along with it, to the way i am seen as a manufactured leaf with too many mistakes to erase. everything is defined.

i looked into a mirror yesterday for the first time in weeks. my first thought was: "am i dead?" but
i was brought back from my ecstasy with the idea that if i was dead, the universe would have the decency to
make me look alive.

my eyes didn't have to dig deep to find the shriveling shreds of a decaying five year old girl with blonde hair
and vibrant eyes that forced you to dance when the radio was on.

i don't want to die. but i don't know how to live anymore.

—

i pack up the last of my clothes into a plastic bag that a nurse abruptly gave me, when my release papers were signed.

my phone sits on blue underwear,
the stains of my touch seem lonely
in this light, maybe just to me.
and it buzzes. four unanswered
messages pile up, three sent yesterday.

11th July 2015.

cameraboy: rosemary. i hope you're
feeling better. i didn't want to visit
you again, because well, last time i did, you didn't feel so good. i miss you a lot. i put a bag of cookies on deposit with
mrs. klein for your next photography class. i'll see you around.

cameraboy: hi, again. i have a feeling you might not answer any of these for a while.  so, i'm going to talk and you'll listen. my mom isn't doing so good. broken hip and dehydration. the doctors keep whispering.

cameraboy: please pray for her. please. i won't ask anything more of you for a while. just please.

15th july, 5:06 p.m.

cameraboy: forget that, rosemary. there's no mom to pray for anymore. i'm not crying. my sisters won't stop crying. i'm not crying. i feel like you're dead too. please don't be dead. i can't handle that. i'm sorry.

rose: where are you?

6:50 p.m. Seen.