skullflower

because techniques taught by leatherbound tutors
with gold-leaf lettering tattooed across their faces
the threat of my mother’s irritation,
the promise of forgetting my name in favor of “emo”
and whispers of freshly inked pages taking wing
behind my ears, over my head, crumpled nicely
between the impatient fingers of doctors
who honestly are quite sick of young adults
and all their fucking problems aren’t enough
are utterly inadequate to stave off the stabbing
or quell the quavering of my limbs,
to sate the soreness or soothe the brutal, brittle bone-ache
waking me in soundless nights,
i am left awake at six in the morning on school days
to scribble short senselessness about loneliness
and hope someone hears my pleas.

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