I'm eating raw tortilla. I imagine it's the small circled ones they give me in the Catholic Church. I pretend I'm eating Christ's body like they tell me. I also pretend that masturbation is not a sin to mormons, that I really don't want to kiss the boy with the jaw made out of silver, the heartbreaker...
That Candy Ann sees me as I really am. Not who I pretend to be when I am around her. I do not have cute clothes. I do not have a cute face. I do not wear cute glasses, or cute pins, or jackets.
I wear black lipstick.
Blue suede shoes.
Eyeliner. By the pound.
And Daddy's Army trenchcoat. Who made me take it off, and yelled, and tried to touch me when I said, "Don't."
I pick my lips untill they bleed.
Count the seconds until day meets night.
Pretend like the traffic jam inside my head isn't out to haunt me.
Last night I couldn't sleep because he who can not be named was standing at the foot of my bed with a sword. Which he would stab into my back.
I met my doctors, today. In other words I am messed up. Head nodding and, "Mhm, okay, I see," also mean, "Wow, you need medicine, girl. You have some serious uh. Issues, maybe."
He was nice, though.
He had nice hair. I like how I lied about being mentally, or sexually abused now or as a child.
I also liked how I lied about cutting and suicide.
Good job, Nadine. Everyone loves you.
I want to grow up and be as free as a bird. I wish she didn't take him away from me. I wish he'd come see me, tomorrow. I wonder if we're still talking.
Candy Ann has tried to explain I cannot be dependant on other people for happiness.
Candy Ann doesn't know that I am not really a girl. I am half a girl who has been brainwashed into thinking the world is out to get her.
"I know everything is gonna' be okay, if you just stay gone..."
I don't even care about the way air moves, or how his kisses make my stomach feel like it's exploding in bubbles, anymore.
After reading for so long everything just starts to sound the same.
I sound the same. Over. And over. And over.
Plus, I am not cute with a purse and a nice jacket and vintage pants.
Maybe I did not turn out like I should have.
Maybe I am a fallen Angel.
Maybe I'll never be worthy of being an Angel.
A boy doesn't <3 me.
He doesn't <3 me in the way I need to be <3ed.
And 1+0 will always equal
1. Alone. You. Who you are. Who you will be. Who you never wanted to become.
I don't know why you fascinate me.
But please go away.
Leave me, lust, and inhumanity.
That's who I am.
That's who I never wanted to become.
I go deeper than the train tracks.