Cardboard Lungs

Life or Death

Written 12/12/14

I want you to picture a girl
running to the tree on Christmas morning, jumping with excitement
to open the new toys Santa brought her.
Then picture her a few years later,
sitting on daddy's lap
and watching a Disney movie,
as happy as can be.

I used to be that girl,
but then I grew up.
Daddy wasn't the person I thought he was.
He was a cheat and pervert.
He stole from me
what I should have been able
to willing give to someone else.

Back then,
trees were for climbing
and hanging ornaments on,
and now they're for tying a noose to
and hoping the branch doesn't break.

I went from fairytales to razor blades,
from razor blades to pills,
from pills to hospitals.
But the only place I wanted to be
was in a six foot deep hole.

As my body grew,
my self esteem shrunk.
I obsessed over my weight
and the small gap between my thighs
that I would do anything to make larger.
Too many people know
what it means to eat numbers
and not food.

I was just another sad girl
with "attention seeking"
Tumblr hashtag problems.
They say it gets better,
that the pain ends,
but really, the pain doesn't end
you just learn how to numb it out.

I have more scars on my body
than there's days in the year.
If you threw the number of my suicide attempts into the sky,
you would make a constellation larger
than the city of Los Angeles.

I've broken beer bottles
because I was jealous
of how so many longed
for their bitter sweet remedy
more than they wanted
the girl who served them.

I was nothing more
than a few dollars
and a good night.

I was just something
you took off the shelf
when you needed me,
then put me back
to collect dust.

It wasn't until
I was sitting on the bathroom floor
in a puddle of blood
that I realized
this isn't a game anymore.
This is life or death.

v.e.s.