I fell down the stairs again today- mom scolded me for being so clumsy- mom hopes I will fall, fall hard for the right man, she says- keep your heart close, tells mom- my heart is closed- I've made a new necklace out of strings- yes, heartstrings- sometimes I trip on purpose to see if it will fix me and make me feel better about the way the sky looks at me- it doesn't- sometimes I cry to see if my salt torn tears will form an ocean that sweeps me away- they don't- sometimes, sometimes I stare at the wall and wonder that if I ate enough of the paint scraped off of it, would it kill me- google says it depends on the dosage- when I get up in the morning I make tea, I burn my hands on the tea cup- I stare into my hot little tea cup while playing with my heartstrings- my heartstrings always sound sad- sad like a butterfly trapped in a swirling pool of blood, blood sweat or tears- sad like a lonely stark white cloud on the prettiest day you could ever see- to me, that day is a thunderstorm filled with so much feeling that it cracks your chest, breaks your heart, then puts you back together again- I fell down the stairs one time and scraped my nose, and I wondered if it made me pretty- mom said it would heal in time, but I still see it- mom says now that we have to keep the floors extra clean- sweep, mop, wax- I wonder, if I was the floor- would she keep me nice and neat- sometimes when I fall, my necklace made of strings likes to catch on something- my necklace likes to choke me when I fall sometimes- most of the time I let it
