New Schools

Are scary.

I'm trying to think of the worst possible scenarios.

Like, I could spend an hour in the wrong classroom.

Or show up an hour late.

Or bend over to pick up a pencil and fart.

Terrifying.

Or everybody could hate me.

Or they could love me so much that they suffocate me with their hugs.

Or the teachers could hate me.

And give me extra homework until my brain falls out of my eyes.

Horrible.

Or they could be brainwashers,

and make me eat the cafeteria food, which is drugged.

I'm bringing my own lunch.

And multiple pencils.

And I'll hold my head up like my nose is bleeding,

so my brains can't fall out of my eyes.

Anxxty

Like someone's ripping out your heart

And serving it on a platter

Like your letting go of life

And nothing really matters

Like something's tearing through your mind

And you can't keep it quiet

Like you just want to put up a sign

If you break it you gotta buy it
You try to lay down

You try to take a nap

But all of these thoughts

Keep running through your head

You want'em to go away

But the emptiness is harder

You're begging for company

But you've nothing left to barter

Dear Dad,

This is the only way I really feel comfortable doing this.

I know that you enjoy more than ciggarettes,

I know that you have for awhile.

I know probably a bit more than you think.

I have felt torn for the past few months,

I didn't know whether or not I wanted to give up on you.

I considered going on as normal until the wedding,

and then just stop talking to you.

But I can't do that.

I love you.

I know that you could be a better dad,

you know that you could be a better dad.

But I also know that you could be worse.

And, I'm starting to understand you a little bit.

I'm not saying that I accept what you've done,

or even what you do.

But I accept you.

We might not ever be as close as we used to be,

I might not ever really be comfortable telling you everything.

But you are my dad.

And nobody could ever take your place.

You're not perfect, and no,

I don't want to be like you when I grow up.

But I still want to be your little girl.

There are alot of things that you really don't know about me,

or at least, I don't think you do.

But please don't be shocked if you find out.

I'm hoping you read this, you say you do.

Please don't call me about it,

actually, don't bring it up at all.

I'm telling you, but I don't want a conversation over.

I don't want to talk about it,

not now anyways.

Episodes

They go away every summer,
And they come back with the school year.
I can feel myself slipping,
And I'm fighting it harder than I ever have.

It's like fighting yourself.
Constantly trying to get yourself in a better mood,
Screening your thoughts and,
When a bad one occurs,
Doing everything you can to keep them from spiraling.

It's like some little voice inside of you,
Is making everything so much worse than it really is.
Making you worry,
Telling you to trust nobody,
Not even yourself.

That nobody loves you.
Nobody could.
And every ounce of unhappiness in your life is entirely your fault.
Telling you that you're an ungrateful selfish bitch.

And eventually, that nothing matters anymore.
It's not worth it,
It's not worth the fight.

But I'm not tired of fighting yet,
no, not yet.