transparent people

tell me there's more to this

Tell me what it means when a man marries you,
kneeling down to one knee.
Afterwards he doesn't smile
and when you ask him to kiss you
he shakes his head no.
Tell me why there is always a bottle of pills
on my bedside table,
even though I don't need them.
Show me who is gasping for breath at the bottom of the lake.
Take me to the sewer gates
and lower me in so that I can collect all the coins people drop down there
and give them to the prostitute on the corner,
so she can go home for one goddamn night.
Teach me how to swallow the pills like my father does.
Teach me how to love like a ripped bed sheet,
tell me there's more to this than sex.
Unravel the mystery of how my father managed
to push away everyone he's ever been around.
Grab me by the throat and drag me back in time,
teach me how to suck the death
from the memory of my grandmother.
Tell me there's more to the girl
with the fearsome voice other than where her body has been
and what she dresses like.
Erase my father completely.
Scribble all over my mother in bright yellow highlighter.
Tell me there's more to all of this than gunshots
and thunderclaps at night.
Tell me there's more to all of this
than the sun falling on its knees at the horizon
by the end of the day and the prostitute twitching in the bloody light,
waiting to climb into the next godforsaken car.

TELL ME THERES MORE THAN THIS.