they say,

do it like this. they say it because i do it differently.

no.
still i need you to hide all the exacto knives in the house, still i need you to cancel your vacation because i, like the ancient dog and like the vulnerable backyard fowl, need to be watched, carefully.

they say, take your pills. they say, they really do help you.

(and they are not wrong, and they have never been wrong about those pills)

and i do not want them, i'd rather die, i don't want to feel better, i don't want to be okay, if okay is where i've been, it's gone now, if i'm going to be crazy, please let it happen

maybe in bed in the afternoon, rocking my open mouth against the pillow, every muscle in my abdomen pulled taught, perineum to throat laced up on one string, one soundless note being suffocated into the old goose-down
maybe on the light rail, while a white woman screams at two black men and a white man "i've seen two beautiful women of different races, both your flavor...i'm a pissed off white bitch and i'm going to give you hell...maybe you'll get on a different train next time" and none of us knows why she is angry, and when she gets off after two stops it is quiet and i can stare out the window, holding my back as straight as it gets, anonymous, i don't have to think at all, but i do, i think, i should have offered to let her sit with me
maybe alone in the house
maybe when the house is full of people
maybe on the front porch of t and eleventh with half a glass of wine resting on my stomach, half listening to terry talk about his camera "will you take a picture of me?" and he pulls up his hood, i wonder if he is comfortable now, or ever, he must be, maybe

if it's going to get worse, please let it happen

please let it be swift and loud and please let me know, don't let me blur out with a smile and a kind word for every soft white hand that wants to choke me, i'm tired, i'm not good to myself when i'm left to my own devices, i need to be fed three times daily, walked, and locked up safe at night

they say, you can leave when you like, but i don't want to go, i want to stay here where it is safe and not sharp and i want to be the only sharp thing in this dull room with no weapons and no love and no hate and no pride, simply me, being snuffed out
over and over and over again
in my own mind, very broken,
just bled out
from the favorite vein,
very quietly



(you were right, about me)