Livie told her parents
About the cuts on her wrists
From the girls at school
And the calorie counting
In a little green notebook shoved into pockets.

Livie's parents
Fed her
To the dragon called
Mr. Therepist
Who chewed forever.

And he plumped her up
With lies
So that they spilled from her mouth
Like a fountain.
And she threw up
So many times
That she started to believe them.

And
Mr. Therepist
Spit her out
In a big
Sticky
***.
Shaped my monster spit
And
Stomach acid
From when she threw up lies.

And though she was finally in school,
Livie stayed gone.

Livie had dissolved in the dragon's stomach,
Leaving piles of bones
And shadows
Under eyes.


She never came back.

Today she finally
Painted over her toenails
In that icky
Sticky
Thick
Bubblegum pink color
That her
drunk father
bought her for christmas

And it had a number
On the cap
And she didn't know what it stood for
But she thought that since the number was
783
Then it didn't stand for the kind.
Because who knew L'Oreal sold
That many bottles of nail polish?
How many different kinds of pink
Could there be?

She actually didn't care.
Because the only reason that she was doing it
Was to cover up
That bluish
Tint
That you get
In your finger and toenails
When you don't eat.

And before she could paint the last toe
Her drunk father came in
And shot her dead.
But she felt nothing
Because the squashed up metal
Bullet
Went straight through her stomach
Which was
Empty
Because she didn't eat.

And her toes were
All the way dry
By the time the police
Showed up.

She loved art
And she breathed
And ate
And slept art
And she radiated art
And art was her life

And we
All loved her
One hundred percent
And every
Girl
Was her
Best friend

And the priest
Doing the funeral
Hadn't met her.
But her parents
Paid him like he had.

And they told the priest
"She loved art
And she breathed
And ate
And slept art.
And she radiated art.
And art was her life."

And so that was what he
Told the
Congregation.


But when
A quiet person like her
Dies
No one ever finds out
That she
Hated art
But
In fact
She loved Forensic Science.

The trees
Behind the checkered screen
Of my window
Are silhouetted skeletons
Against a black and white
Cotton candy sky.
And limp dangling pieces of flesh
Cling to the bones
Refusing release.

He told you
He wants you to be sluttier.

If he loved you
Like you want him to
Like you love him
He would
Never
Even
Think
About asking you to change.

Why can't you see?

He's ruining you.

He eats at your soul like an earthworm
hollowing things out in there

He's done it to girls before.

Why can't you see?

He's using you.

Why can't you see?

And on her patterned wrist
She scratched
*Please Don't Go

It got so high
Yesterday
That at first
My mom told me that
I just didn't have to do my homework.

99.4

I lay in bed
And cocooned in covers
Because
My skin was warm
But my blood felt like
Liquid polar bear.

99.9

I got bored.

100.3

My mom took my temperature.

101.4

She ran a bath
And the thought
It would be smart
To make it
Feel
Like
Liquid
Polar bear
Again.

102.2

Mom says I hummed.
So she thought I was
Better.
I got out of my
Liquid
Polar
Bear
Tub.

101.7

I climbed back into bed.

102.5

Mom got on a work call.

102.8

I fell asleep.

103.1

My heart rate went down.

103.4

I woke up.

103.6

I

103.7

Couldn't

103.8

Breathe

104.1

104.1

104­.1

But mom was on her work call.

I want to write
And I want to write far
Farther than distance and
Farther than a mile feels when you're
Expected
To run in gym class.

I want to
Inspire.

And the word seems
Thick
Like elephant skin
Or those
Cracked leather jackets that bikers wear.

It seems 'out there'
Like a planet
Somewhere that we
Haven't sent probes to.
In the middle of swallowed up
Space.

But I want to
Inspire

Like
J.K. Rowling
Or
E.B. White
Or
J.R.R. Tolkein

And all of those other
Blocked up
Official sounding
Initials.

I could have initials.
Be E.M. Tyler or just
E. Tyler.
And people would
Wonder what the E. stood for

And one day I would
Sign an autograph
"Emily"
And they would call
The New York Times
And the search would be over
And ambitious fans
Would exclaim in exhuberance.

And they wouldn't have even read my book yet.