An Enigma Is Too Much For A Cat To Eat

🚩Tuesday

i know my weak old man can't handle this truth
if you are him, go dissociate.

his hair in the sunrise
goldilocks, yes,
summer is here and the mornings are warm.
pink fringe skirt,
my hands went to his hair before he could even kiss me
straining my neck to meet his slippery lips.
the boy who I knew too well
my brown eyes looking into his blue secrets
that familiar taste
the safety in my adrenaline

out by 8:53,
back in my seat by 9:11.
the recording of what we did is 13 minutes long
and most of it is me waiting like a lonesome queen.

you'd never know by the first two stanzas of this poem
that I hate his guts.
he's not mine but he's someone's girlish boy
underwhelming and overly pathetic.

the taste was still in my mouth when the teacher took me into the stairwell
voice memos open,
i found myself in ISS. panic,
whom I had cheated on you with before,
came to sit beside me and persuaded me with those hips.
the cry was steady at the time
less of a river, more like winter
and here the boy comes, texting me,
hoping i'd cover his pale ass in front of administration.
his attempts all failed, as i knew they would.
he wrote his confession upstairs
while i was locked inside a room.

walkie talkie static
doors, opening, closing, opening
footsteps cornering me
i had the feeling someone would ask to search me
that they'd take my phone from me
that i'd have to hide the pin on my orange sweater again
questioning,
investigating,
i realized that joyce would soon know.

and instantly, i was back in the waiting room of the psych ward
confused and afraid
begging her not to hit me again
please, spare me the childhood again
don't tell me you love me ever again
my sister's disappointment told me all I need know
the calendar on the wall read Tuesday,
but in my mind I know this is Thursday again.
begging her to not to send me back to the ward
please, spare me the nurses who stare at my scars
you can't send me back there
we don't even have the money
i'll run this time, barefooted,
before the EMTs strap me to the gurney.

i have always done what the employees told me to do
i have always been disciplined
i have always
never have i been the one to get tranquilized
today, Thursday,
i did not calm down when they told me to breathe
i sobbed
harder.

but my revolution did not come without its diagnosis:
high risk behaviour and unnecessary hysteria.

the man in the room, easily over 47,
confused as to how
"an intelligent girl like me could do this to myself"
AP students are the biggest cheats
men like him would never understand
how my will moves me
i wanted to, and so i did.
i wasn't using it to cope with the divorce
he offered me no money
and i was not coerced
he was nowhere near being my boyfriend.
i was simply sixteen and overtly horny.
last time i checked, that's no crime.

therefore, the cops didn't want anything from a girl like me
a frail all-american-whore;
if i wasn't concerned with the stoner kids liking me,
i would have thrown him under the bus and pretend it was a rape
anything to make my prison sentence shorter
because thats just how you play the system, baby.
transactional oral sex is my monopoly
yes, i know the health risks
yes, i never miss a day of my trispentex
yes, i know the consequences of being caught
i know a man like him wouldn't believe the risk is what makes it fun in the first place

new office, new therapist
this one's a social worker.
i ate my carrots while my father asked the questions
and they told him somewhat verbatim
that his daughter is an all-american whore.
you'd think i was the school shooter from nashvile with the tension and heaviness of their words
i was told my reactions were disproportionate;
that i was minimizing the situation.
sex crimes are happening all within me
what's another to the wikipedia page to me?
this misdemeanor is miniscule
compared to my history books, at least.