Diary of a girl with low self-esteem

1.

Pendulum limbs swing across
a cold bed frame, bones echo over
metal, a bell rings outside, the
disarrayed ant army lines up in
military units. I stretch
my neck for better view barred by
paper maché hands that crunch
across my forehead. The interior
brain beats a deep throb not unlike
my mother’s fist against the
bathroom door:

open-up, open-up, open-up

I can’t remember the last time
I didn't feel this or see this
blue-green kaleidoscopic vision:
bottles and pills and boxes of
bandages hovering above
my head.

I’m not afraid to die, the woman in
white tells me I will if I don’t stop

but what is stopping and how is it better than dying and I don’t know how to stop and I don’t want to and I don’t see why anyone would care because I’m just this thing taking up space, hogging air, hogging life, hogging space and space and

Her eyebrow creeps up into
a sharp black hook, another
bell rings – I slide out the room.

I’m not afraid to die.

2.

Let me tell you about my fantasy:
I’m floating, I’ve cut the cord, a flying
fetus, a forgotten cosmonaut
abandoned in a caramel Galaxy
chewing at the atmosphere.

Let me tell you about my other fantasy:
I’m Captain Cadbury sailing across
the sheets, beneath me lies a coco
goldmine buried under lopsided
panels, I straddle the pillow and ride
a foaming wave towards –

I made this room
for you to love me
I made this room
for you to love me
I’ve never felt more alone

The darkness tells me it’s late and
the darkness tells me it will be here
soon when it becomes me, crawling
out of my throat, opening up my
chest with scratchy nails and a
greedy tongue

there will be no going back.

3.

I sip tea and spit it out
I pick cuticles and wait
only three more hours of
this shit. Listening to your
stories and jokes and pokes at
my condition, well Grandma
says it’s a sin.

You know in Africa children are starving
Yes I know Grandma
A fucking waste of space that’s what you are
Yes I know Grandma

4.

He nibbles my ear and pokes a tongue in
my eye, his nose vacuums fluff from the skin
of my neck. I moan a low humming sound
and gaze across my postered walls of bands
I’ve stopped listening to of slogans I
can’t relate to because everything is
different now and I mourn over our
revolutionless world as his tongue digs
deeper and deeper and

I would like to say something meaningful
but I don’t know how.