20 [not here]
Tell yourself you don’t want it. Tell yourself you’re wrong. Snapping a rubber band on my wrist, like it’s that easy. Sometimes I just want to throw my head up to the sky in agony from so many different thoughts all hitting then repelling each other. Opposite poles in physics back at school. Or chemistry. Or whatever, I had my head on the desk then too.
Oh you’re super. No doubt. Your smile makes mine look cellotaped on. It’s a shame, though. It’s a shame just underneath that radiant skin you’re slathered in, is just dirty, sticky with thoughts you’ve had about other people. All with serrated edges, keen to bruise and stronger than anything you could say. Nice girl you are.
Three adults in an orange-carpeted room. Spilling secrets and spilling guts on my similar-featured sibling. I say not one thing for thirty minutes. My hands pulling at their own skin, I feel like a thousand angry little people have stepped into my head to fuck me over in a time I need to be calm and controlled. I can’t stop thinking about how tight my neck feels and how my father must be looking at me, makeup-less and winter weight sitting on a chin just like his, and how he should be disappointed. When you have a child, you expect great things. But you should be able to find those great things in all the small, inconsequential ones. In the fact they have they’re own thoughts, this thing you created. They have things they like and don’t like, you should be amazed. My mother sits and stares. Not impressed, not proud, not amazed. She plays the victim card, again. Something I will never do, not again. I used to be so afraid people would leave me if they didn’t feel they had to be around. Now I’m not too fazed if they do.
Yes, my sister. Yes, the crazy one. The one who stole all the serrated bits from all the cello tape dispensers. The one who planned on leaving me with I’m Sorry at 1am. You said you’d only be there for three months. You won’t be home for Christmas. It strikes me in the early hours of the morning, I am doing exactly what you did at my age.