give me a gold dress
to match my soul

Did I choose this life
Or did it choose me?
Did I take the path I took
believing I was free?

Was it me that took the first step?
If it was I'm not sure why
my ankles and wrists have scars
from where pain pulled me along
and all the while you know
I sang a happy song
convinced that I'm right where I belong

Here.

Here is where my deepest
fears are all covered up by
dear friends that I just met yesterday
But it's like I've known them my whole life
convinced beyond all doubt that
this is what freedom feels like

They like me after all
These people who chant the happy song
along with me, blissfully unaware that
none of us are really free.
In reality it's all one big scheme
cooked up by our darkest memories
because remembering hurts too much
with pain we'd all rather not touch

or talk about

God forbid we doubt this happy song we sing
or realize all the pain that truth might bring
So we'll carry on in hope
that our pretending doesn't go up in smoke

So let's have a conversation now while we can
about all the things kept behind the door
to your closet filled with ***** laundry
that's been there for years
damp with tears that no one ever saw you cry
You swear you'd die if anyone did.
Because in there you hid after what you did
or what you had done to you

Me too.

If I'm honest, I need you
The monster got me too.
Trauma and tragedy that turned me
into whatever the heck I am now

but somehow I'm still here

And believe me when I say I know;
Underneath all your fears
you're dying to hear that
you weren't the only one.

You weren't.

We didn't choose this road
pain told us we had to take it
that we had to fake it or get eaten alive
that this was the only way to survive
but if this is all there is I'd rather die!
Don't tell me that all I can do is hide
Don't tell me to just pretend away
all the shame and self-hate
as if I were assigned some cruel fate
Where I feel like I'm nothing forever

Never!

I refuse to keep living a lie
No, pain, you can't make me
though I know you tried
I'm awake now and your credibility is fried
your access to my heart denied
I've cried enough in solitude and silence
Your violence ends today.

So in this my brother I pray for you
That you find that this is true
That your life is more than an empty tune
That pain said you had to sing.
The you that God intended you to be
Let him out, He set him free
Through blood spilled to wash him clean

This is the new song we have to sing.

Dear dad,
I'm 18 years old,
and you've been out of my life for 17 years and 42 weeks of it.
You missed out on your little girl learning, and growing, and turning into a woman.
Someone else taught me how to ride a bike,
but I don't think that you mind missing something so important.
I don't think you mind missing recitals, and concerts and shows.
I don't think you'd even recognize me if you saw me on the street.
You don't deserve the title dad,
so for as long as I can remember, I've called you ***** donor.
Because that's all you ever given me (except for daddy issues and hereditary mental illness).
You don't deserve the title dad because you never taught me how I was supposed to be treated;
so I settled for too little, and longed to be loved.
But now, I don't even call you ***** donor,
I neglect to recognize your existance in my life,
because let's face it, you were never even a possibility.
I feel bad after all these years,
because you missed out on the joy of having a daughter,
and being a father.

My doctor asks " How do u want to **** yourself? "
I laugh silently.
She thinks I'm lying.
"The internet is very helpful" I reply.
Coldly, factually I  narrate the correct way to cut your wrists, cut your jugular, hang yourself.
Unemotionally I discuss taking my 180 benzoates with a bottle of *****, and how this is pretty unreliable.

She turns white.
'Hard to do when you're Indian', I think quietly.
My inner laughter becomes a little hysterical as I'm asked if I "want" a psychiatrist.

My inner scientific self analyses the idiocy of asking a suicidal person if they "want" help.

Oh well, if I ever find the strength to do it, she'll know that I knew how

She's taken your body wash, and used it without permission.
She's used it twice before and
presumed it would be fine to take it again.

You never gave consent.
You even said No.

She's used it twice before so what's a third time,
or a fourth or even a fifth,
she's just hoping you won't snitch and tell someone
she stole something from you...
Your confidence or your peach shampoo?

She lied about the temperature of the bath water,
you were supposed to drown
before you felt the heat,
but you didn't and now you're
tearing your skin to shreds,
Self-destruction on the first date,
how sweet.

She wants you to wash your mouth out,
you said something you shouldn't and now she's mad,
feeling sorry for you is in the past,
the new thing is drowning you in the bath.

Your heads now under water,
feet kicking the floor.
She's doused you with her perfume,
just to see you choke against the wooden frame of the door.

Summer time
summer love
burning
as hot as the summer sun
electrifying
brighter than the summer stars

summer time, summer love
but seasons do change
and summer only lasts every summer
so before you go, kiss me hard
kiss me long, the one that lingers
kiss me, the one that will get me through
the next summer