october third // i think i hate the color green.

i.

not doing my schoolwork,

not looking through records,

not answering emails,

not drinking water,

not not not

(i think i hate the color green)

ii.

she came over today,

gave me a present for

my birthday (i hate it, i hate it, i hate my)

(birthday, maybe), and she

wrapped up a book in

green wrapping paper,

folded stickers of our (used-to-be-my) favorite

comics into the front pages,

wrote a fifty dollar check

in the card. i don’t

think i’ll cash it in, or

however it’s said. i think

i hate the color green.

iii.

she’s been in my nightmares,

drunk and afraid,

angry, kills me in

all these special ways (i guess)

and saying all these

dumb dumb dumb truths

that don’t leave me when i wake,

and i get lost in the fact that you didn’t leave,

hold onto the way the blood feels like as it leaves

me, too, as you did in all the nightmares before,

and here she was, gone and going,

come and coming and came

(thought i was prepared, but)

(i guess not).

iv.

and i thought it’d be easier to be angry,

thought it’d be easier to hold my ground,

thought it’d be easier to be strong,

to be, to be, to be,

to be anything but the way i am,

or the way i was.

v.

and i hated the way my eyes watered with

unshed tears, watered with unsureties and

watered with all my weaknesses.

vi.

and my throat hasn’t opened back up,

nor have my eyes dried, nor has

my smile come back around,

nor has my world felt steady since.

vii.

she told me she’d see me soon

(can only hope it’s like last time)

(she said the same thing—months of)

(silence following) and she told me that she was late,

and she told me, she told me, she told me,

she told me so many things

that i can’t help but forget.

viii.

i think i hate the color green.

ix.

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

so cowardly, all holed up in all my doubts

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

opening the card the wrong way

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

so unsure, in the way i rushed to stand

(and didn’t know where to hold myself)

(and didn’t know how to stand upright)

and i felt so childish, so dumb,

listening to the way her voice lilted,

to the way it rose and fell,

to the way it sounded so familiar,

to the way i felt so small and so quiet

in response.

x.

and i felt so hurt, so angry, so unsure,

so dumb, such a waffling fool who doesn’t

know what she wants, and i felt so so so bad

for the way i fell right into the entertainment

of talking with her again, of saying the same things,

of hearing her tell me the same words,

of being treated the same way,

and i hated, i hated, i hated

her & myself & everyone else & my dumb,

stupid, idiotic, monstrous heart for it all.

xi.

and i’m so

tired, so tired, so tired, so

tired, and i so badly want to sleep, so

badly want to earn a bead, so badly want to

lay on the floor and just forget every silly

little

t h i n g

xii.

and i think i hate the color green.

xiii.

and in other news:

i overshared and made those uncomfortable,

i undershared and made things so awkward,

and i talked and talked and talked

and i’m so ashamed.

and i’m tired and i want to cry and

i want her to go away and never ever ever ever

come back, ever ever ever again, to just

stay gone and keep going and going and

going, and i want my nightmares to

go away, all their heavy truths and

nervous thoughts weighing down so low

on my already-shackled form.