Unravel

My copy of Jane Eyre would stop rotting.

The creases in the spine would be ironed out.

The black ink will flow out of my eyes; stramp the letters back on the pages and unravel all the words.

When I move my neck to my shoulder, to crack the joint,

everything intelligible will come out like sour milk from the forefront of my brain.

Then, I’ll feel like the ditzy bunny I’m supposed to be.

I will stare at my empty plate and the bile will churn in my stomach.

It will burn a hole in my esophagus, it will sting as it climbs up the walls of my throat.

I would un-chew my food; it will reform into bits onto my forked tongue

and spat back out onto a clean, shiny spoon.

I will rub cold cream all over my lips and rinse the red lipstick off my fingertips

and underneath I’ll uncover the baby pink mouth that I spoke with in elementary school.

The lips that told my father how much I loved him.

The lips that were smooth and un-blistered.

My tongue wouldn’t lick every single lie I told. I’ll shove a bar of soap into my mouth and

exterminate anything terrible that was stuck between my teeth.

Instead of a pull, I will push him right off me.

All the wrinkles will smooth in my sheets and my chenille bunnies will not be knocked to the ground.

My bruises would dart from yellow, green, blue, purple, and gone,

We’d button our shirts back up and put our socks back on our feet.

My knuckles will be soft again and she’ll hold me in arms.

She’ll lather baby shampoo into my hair and wash out all the dye,

bleach, and chemicals that ruined my curly hair.

All of the product would flow back up the drain and solidify;

we’ll bottle it up and set it in the far corner of the medicine cabinet.

I’ll put on blue gloves and rubber boots that reach my pelvis to

dig through a decade worth of garbage in a landfill to find the floral wallpaper that bordered my room.

I’ll take a toothpick and scrape off grey paint,

to uncover a satin pink mess.

I’ll run my hands through the shags in my carpet to rip out the dirt from other people’s shoes.

And I’ll be an adult pretty soon.

I’ll be alone in a city and the best love I was ever experienced

was one that only exists in paperback.

I’ll eat nearly expired sushi from the second-best grocery store in the city.

All of my fruits and vegetables are a little bit rotten.

I cannot manage to cover the hyperpigmentation on my cheeks

and the acne scars on my chin.

I barely put on lipstick anymore because everytime I eat oily, fast food it dissolves my makeup.

I’ll answer a text.

Then, I’ll lay in bed with someone I am not in love with at all.

He has Taco Bell crumbs in his pillowcase.

I will carefully slip out of his off-white sheets and scramble for the front door.