I should probably sleep
I should probably curl up in a ball and let out one of those pained cries my throat has become so fond of emitting as of late
But
I don’t want to close my eyes
And see the memories we’ve made
Engraved on the back of my eye lids
Reflected on a never ending loop on my corneas
I don’t want to lay down
Because , with the way I feel
Honestly
I might never get back up
I might just ‘accidentally’ curl up into a ball and die
But maybe
I should eat something
And try
In vain
Too keep my nausea at bay long enough to absorb some nutrients from whatever my eyes don’t perceive as hidden poison today
Maybe I shouldn’t ‘accidentally’ hurl up whatever god forsaken piece of fat causing “food” that has decided to grace my esophagus today
Or maybe
I should look in the mirror every half hour and admire the complete mess that I am
And take detailed notes on how fast I deteriorate so they might find a cure for this whole ‘’love’’ disease after my inevitable passing
Maybe Hold out my arm and wonder at the almost invisible pink scars I have as one of my only truthful memories of 8th grade
Maybe I should shut my eyes and recall what being safe used to feel like
Maybe I should realize, at some point, that, that’s what I ‘assumed’ safe felt like
Or maybe I should reminisce briefly about all the other encounters with “safe” I’ve had the misfortune of having
Or the people that told they were going to keep me “safe’’
Never hurt me
Mommy
And daddy
Grandma
And grandpa
The monster ,
Maybe I shouldn’t have burned the list of people who lied to me
But, it’s a good thing I did, because it made “accidentally” catching myself with a steak knife way to appealing
Maybe I should write a really long letter to you and send it this time , maybe I shouldn’t cry over it so hard that it melts into sad little bits of nothing.
Maybe I should take that nice sleep medication my dad bought that I “accidentally” took more the the recommended dose of so I could stop thinking about the monsters hands sliding around my seven year old waist , and whispering things no little girl should hear
Maybe I should forget him
Maybe I should look at him , like everyone else and pretend not to know what I can only assume is his darkest secret , he was in my grade , we go to the same school after all , I should just forget him , and elementary school all together
Maybe I should forget the girls who tortured me, by pretending to be my friend, but lied, who showed me that in this world there are only two things
Hate
And deception
And both of them gave themselves the name “safe” at some point or another.
That in my hunt for safe I should realize that I’m as crazy as those people who hunt bigfoot, chase rainbows for a living, and talk to very conversational ghosts for a living.
And people, most people anyway
Because people are monsters
And I am a monster
Made by a monster
Birthed by a monster
Conditioned by a monster to be a monster
And since people are monsters
The nicest thing I can say for my self is that im a monster so , I am a person , kind of.
But , most people hunt for love , or “belonging”
Whatever that means
Some people search for their birth parents , as if they didn’t already know in the front of their minds that when the found them on the floor of some crack house in the deep deep deep deep south , just waiting for some poor stranger to waltz by and smell deaths awful stench to inquire inside and to call some other “person” to peel them bit by decayed bit off a floor that is forging to even the deceased puddle of goo that donated either sperm or an egg to the noble cause that is bringing another monster into this world, a floor that smells like rape and looks like dead hope ,that,that was going to be the second biggest let down ever , after dyeing and going absolutely know where , even after they wasted their limited Sundays praising , glorifying , and exemplifying a god that allowed things like cancer, malaria , chromes disease, alztimers disease , internal bleeding breakable bones and physical injury , mental and physical disability into this world , who gave us the relieving gift of intercourse , and then . after all the afore mentioned duchebaggarry and asshollery , had the audacity to tell us who it had to be with, and after that, all of that , allowed STD’s to be a thing. Yes , people believe in THAT god and go to impossible lengths to find THAT parent , only to find a stain on the floor where they stood for the last time. And all I want is safe
And even that is going to be a let down
Because , I have watched person after person fall prey to what the search for.
I have watched numerous perceived skilled hunters be taken down by their pray and be proved true imbeciles.
That , when I do actually find something that looks like safety , ill be proven the imbicile I am.
That the world will see the skilled hunter I am not
And
Some child of mine will come searching for me
And find me
In a puddle of blood
Dead eyes still crying from the letdown that is finding anything that we search for
And then they will call some other poor soul to clean what is left of me out of the floor like a period stain out of your favorite panties
And they will hunt like me
For something different
Maybe not safe
Maybe a better version of me
I don’t know
But at the very end , someone will be calling someone else to peel them off the floor, scrub them out of the curtains and paint over what’s left of them on the walls.
But maybe, I should just go to sleep
Changing the sheets was always easier anyway
