Eat Books And Papers, The Teeth Of Hair Combs And The Lover Names On The Walls Engraved Like On Trees
On August 23rd 2024,
What will happen to me?
Going back to the place, filled with drain flies. Dress codes. The Writing On The Walls That Alienate Me? Cleaning the moldy room we slept in on Sundays. The empty beds with squished flies I slap with my white slippery sports shoe. I always struggled to run or walk in those.. They were not designed for running.. Or to meet the faces of the unfamiliar. The strange teachers that may have done unspeakable things. Or will I cry at night in the same moldy room I clean on Sundays. Filling the gallons of water, putting them outside the right room codes according to the marked room codes on the gallons. The hair band filled with dead hair. Crying as I put my bangs in a weird ponytail. Crying and crying and crying as I thought about my school life, my home life. And how everything doesn't make sense to me. Who am I, where am I, how am I, will I see my cat by the time I get out? Will my cat die? Will I die? Will I jump off the same school I screwed up in? My life? What am I supposed to do? What do they expect of me. I thought about as I stared at the ceiling of the moldy room, wondering when the drain flies start to wake up when I go to sleep.
Or sleeping during the afternoons, listening to the squeaky shoes of the staff walking past our rooms. Be careful not to miss the broadcast, or else my grade will drop! One time, the echo in the moldy room scared me at night when I laughed in the obsecurity of everything I have experienced, I will never be the person they thought I am.
I am no one.
I'm not sorry to anyone.
I am only sorry to myself.
How I could've prevented this from happening.
I do not know.
I had adjusted to all of that. But I was taken away, back home. I didn't even notice the bittersweet smell of the neglected turtle tank. I was only greeted by the messy small, cluttered living room and the ugly sight of my brother I fought so hard to avoid.
or
anyone.
am I even capable of loving.
is anyone capable of loving me?
please don't make me laugh to myself at night in that moldy room. please don't make me breathe in the same room as the other inmates. please don't make me tie my bangs into a ponytail. please don't make me cry in the sight of my Father. please don't make me cry. please
don't do this to me.
don't make me think of jumping off the school I studied at.
or to pull or dismemeber you to be excited at the thought of your impending death, or make me smile at the thought of your demise.
i don't want to this
but i can't help it
it is so funny.
everything is.
i am so alone and lonely
but the worst part is i wanted everything this way.
and i am sorry to
no one i guess