But the point is nod this
It nevr was
Wen literture widters into
A shel of
Sintaks spelling sillabels
All we hav wud be
A shadow a silluett
In which we can only gess
What was the ful body
That wasn’t skined aliv
Sold as vaniddy, an intelectual fasion fad
But most importanly had speach
And was free
Fine
I’ll be pretty
I’ll sit my ass down and
I’ll smile so hard my lips slice open my skull
I’ll tie my legs together so they’re still
I’ll open my eyes and listen
I’ll open my ears and watch
I’ll shut up and shut down
Shut left, shut right
Until I’ve smoothed myself down to a square
I hope you’re happy
I hope you’re happy I fit here
I hope you’re happy I’m pretty now
My heart is a shotglass
Filled to the brim
With anger or impulse or something in between
Actually, no
I’ve never been in between
I had never not been punch drunk
Punched a hole in the classroom
Told I was adversely drunk on hypnotic daydreaming
“Ah, so you were retarded? Why didn’t you tell me already.”
I fell in punch drunk love at 14 and a half
I was punch drunk vomiting because
The world turned a disgusting shade of sober
And “The only thing that filled my addiction was you”
I had never been punch drunk
But I fall in love in punch drunk love
And I punch in punch drunk anger
So I punch myself in punch drunk self-hate
My punch drunk nose starts bleeding
And I, a punch drunk, start to punch drunk laugh
Sorry mai engrish is bed
I wazzen’ bohn ina engrish speeking cuntree
I come he-uh to be a myujjician. Luh-ning engrish is similah to muzzik
Yuu kip repitting somccing dhet pheels akwahd and unnehtyurral until ada certahn poin’ it come alive
Bud dheres one dding diffuhrunt. You see, id doezn’ mat-tuh waht inztruh-munt yuu lern ferst in muzzik
Iph yuu pla-ee gee-tah likge a chellyst, an’ yuu pla-ee baicce likge a gee-tah-list, id doezn’ mat-tuh cuzz you’be steel gaht zhat ahat in yuu
Bud in engrish idz diffuhrunt. Ib’fe yuu can tell waht inst-ruh-muhnt I lern’ to pla-ee fuhst, I’m do-eening id’ rrong
I sink idz berry sed
— “I’m sorry sweetie, can you please repeat that? I couldn’t hear through the accent.”
Stop tiptoeing honey
You don’t want the other kids to hate you
- Don’t you?
Stop making sounds
You don’t want them to think you’re retarded
- Don’t you?
- Because I did,
I want you to walk honey,
I want you to talk honey,
I want you to be safe,
That's all honey—
Your sweetness is all gone
And all you’ve got now
The cold metallic twang of
Saccharin and sugar free
- To be broken all over again?
- To be safe, that is all?
All you want right
They cut off all our soul
You know we weren’t cut out for this
Yet I still do this, just to get his—
- Their approval
The soles of your feet are bruised
- And I see so are yours
You cried for me the day I left our city
Your tears fell down my chest and through my bones
It pierced through my ribs and made me breathe
It felt like tiny balls of dynamite
Burning through my chest, hot and lively
I was blissfully dead before you
Like a newborn baby breathing
Your tears opened my airways
I was reborn as a being of pain and reality
- What can I do?
Nothing.
- What is this for?
Nothing.
- Why do we love?
For nothing.
You spoke in destruction
The more you spoke
The world was naked
Dynamited of the walls of meaning
And finally raw, empty, and embarrassing
Just boom, boom, boom
So we learned we were doomed
Yet we gripped harder
Death gripping to each other
Sisyphus to sisyphus
Waiting for the next boulder to crush us down
I thought you were real
How dare you
I thought you had meaning
How dare the world
I thought you were like me
How, how, how, how come
Because it is
It just is
Is - Sis - Si - Phus
We were not Sisyphus
We were both Sisyphus
We were both the boulder
We fell down, tumbling onto each other
Happening, happening, happening
Just an event, an experience, and not an existence
But so is everyone
And so are we.
Be good at writing
But not too good
Because if you’re too good
Your fingers will take over you
Like two large uncontrollable wings
It’d fly you away
Be good at painting
But not too good
Because if you’re too good
You’d drink the paint
You’d think you are the art;
And art isn’t meant to be happy
It's supposed to make you feel
I don’t want you to feel happy
I just don’t want you to feel
Because I’ve tried
When you fell ill I was fifteen
I looked at your photos
Of when you were fifteen
You were a artist - a renegade
And I was one too, you were afraid
You looked like a canary-
So light yet heavy-
Eyed, intelligent and not-
Heart heavy, heart was bright-
Fluttering, galvanised and electric-
And that's when I knew
I took you out with you
When I was taken out of you
I was born a tumour inside you
And I took out parts of you
Then I hid under your breast
Deep imbedded in your chest
I crawled up beside your heart
Made me part of you
I have known for so long
This wasn’t your song
And that I was the knife;
That cut of your flight
But with that same knife-
I will now sing what you sung
For I have made you a wife
And have stolen your vice
I shall pay with my life
And I shall pay with my blood
I shall pay with my life
And I shall pay with my blood
Oh how much I wished I was you
For I have been omitted since birth on being diligent
For I have committed a crime of being incomprehensible-
I wished you came to me
Caressed me and told me
“You are retarded
Hey, but at least it's not morally wrong?”
Because right now
My cognitive state is a crime to god and capitalism
My contradiction is my vice and my vice a cataclysm-
To education.
Dear education,
For the love of god education,
Please listen to me
Because I am not the only-
Girl that cries every night wishing she had a defect
Rather than a gift that makes no sense
And you should know from that point
That you have messed up severely
On how you make kids shine;
You sand down rocks smooth; diamonds too
Tidy up, cut crystal; diamonds too
And every time we had a bump or a spot with too much
You’d cut us down, or discard us if we failed to.
And you’d see the scattered light off my eyes;
The sin of being contradictory-
The sin of having a asymmetric intellect-
You’d see instead.
And I’d wish I had no light at all.
Every time I got the hard ones right and easy ones wrong
I would cut down and discard a part of myself
And at sixteen even while pumped up with adderall and sit-still
I still feel I’d rather be dumb and shiny
So stupid was the aspiring name I gave myself
Because I’d rather have a defect than a gift that makes no sense.
The wide eyed people
Of great minds
Are trying to fix us
We cannot walk
No contribution to them
And we yell
“My leg hurts!
I cannot walk!”
And they’d say
“See from what I see
I see that it is unable to walk
I see that it must be an issue of the spine?”
We yell back
“No! Our legs hurt!
We cannot walk because of our legs!
Please fix our legs, our bright people!”
And the people
Bright eyed and blind
Would keep on talking
Floating above us
They cannot hear us -
Our mouths are theirs
And their eyes are all our voices.