Civilian

Destroy is my favorite word.

So I got my garters and I caught your tongue like a cartoon cat.

You got my skin in yours and you caught on.

All the romantics got a white Christmas and I’ve got shit to do.

Give and take and give and take. I take, take, take, and I hoard and I forget to give.

I drop and spill and crash and bruise and destroy.

I always said to destroy was to create. I’ve been a mess of masterpieces unfinished and dreams that fell too short.

We always ask for honestly and end up sleeping in filth.

I’ve loved you before and I can’t remember when I knew.

"Perfectly able to hold my own hand, but I still can’t kiss my own neck."

“You’re too young for love, we both are.”

“We’re too young for a lot of things. Doesn’t mean we’re numb to it.”

Too young for shots and deep inhales and all the profanity on TV.

How do they expect censorship to last? Your sheltered kids will come out crawling on their knees, squinting from the light, dashing eyes like spotlights from lighthouses on the seas where demons weep. Some will climb and some will dig, but all will fall. Slaves rebel and women hold guns and men wear suits. And I still destroy the natural simplicity in front of me, creating a darker world I used to hide.

A world between your vertebrae, weaved around the notches in your spine, making you twist and thrive and stand up straight.

My mother used to stick her nail in my spine so I would stand up straight. I couldn’t hide anything in there. I used to imagine the day when her nail, painted red already, would dig too far and hit glistening ivory, the pure skeleton of her helplessly rebellious daughter. She’d apologize and love me like no one else.