when i didn’t like it, i’d cross it out, when it didn’t go my way i’d scribble it a hundred times until self tore and the pen fell through, smeared smiles and rehearsed lines and i’d be alright cause mom said i’d grow out of it, well now i’m up and out and fallen into something else, they all believe i’m alright as evidenced by the ascending notches along my height chart, i pleaded until coke turned to sprite, why worry my parents with carcinogenics stalking the gums when i could pass silently reading the scars on flipped hands, don’t fret your pretty head or stagger that fleeing footfall of pity asunder, i’ve chosen ink over poison now, it leaves quite the mess, i pray you’ll recover my notebooks once i’ve moved on, the guilt of many many missing sheets corroding your teeth like the soft guidance and kool-aid you forced on me as a kid when all i asked for was the clarity of a glass of water.
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