i saw the skyline this morning. it was the same
shade that i remember from years before. it's
cold just the same. early just the same. blue just
the same.

and the birds' song just doesn't stop. but past the noise,
the beauty, the hope – i see my heart. i see the mirror.

and i see the shadow of love engraved on my wrists.
but i swear my heart wasn't broken, wasn't battered.
(i'll keep pretending that he cares and that i, most certainly, don't).

but what is the truth in this all?
is there really any to be found?

swish. swish. swish.

mommy always told me not to play with my drinks,
but i'm beyond caring. i'll swirl it around until it all
splashes out and i have nothing left to swirl. because
i just don't care.

i keep thinking about it. not in a bad way, not in a good way.
i just think. there are no feelings with it. feelings never come
to me.

i think about him. and the old "him". i compare them.
although there's nothing really to compare. and in both,
the wrong one, had a denominator of me.

but i really don't care. because it's not like i can
change it anyway.

i look towards my report card.

sigh.

see, i'm not even perfect. number four. not good enough
for me – but see, i really just don't care. i haven't been
trying. i haven't be willing to work.

i walk to the stairs. my mom yells at me to clean up
my messes – i tell her i'll get it in a second. i'm just going to
the bathroom. she says ok, and let's me go.

and i go. to the bathroom. not to pee. not to poop.
just to sit. on the floor. and think.

it's not that i couldn't do that anywhere -
i just chose to. it has the tools that take away
my pain – exchanging pain for pain.

or i could stick my fingers down my throat.
then my stomach couldn't be sick anymore.

no, i couldn't do that – i don't have the courage
to do anything like that anymore.

i wish i understood how i got to this place.

but i give up thinking and walk downstairs.
i clean my dishes. i wipe down the table.
i notice the window is dirty, so i clean that, too.
then i noticed the floor, and the countertops,
and the laundry piles, and the trash cans to be

emptied, and things of the like. so i did all of that,
too.

and i never thought about it. i just went through the
motions. i picked up my science book. read it. did my
homework. a boy called. i talked. but i wasn't really
in the mood to. I think he noticed. he pretended he
was getting off for my sake. "buh bye, boy".

i lay in bed. i should dust my walls. but no, i just stay
in bed. and watch. watch the memories replay, watch
the sunlight change. watch the hours pass.

but i never do anything at all.

i wish i knew what was wrong. it's not that i'm sad.
it's not that i'm depressed or angry. it's just that i
don't feel anything at all.

i walk down to the basement and pick up my old
sketch book. there was a picture i drew from when
i was little. there was a fire. and a girl within the fire

saying "help!" then i go back upstairs. i look in my filing
cabinet, and there's another picture. that looks the same
drawn in a more mature way.

i wonder if i was made to be this way. i cried myself to
sleep at night because i thought my heart was hardened.
i didn't know how to feel love or see god. i thought i was
an outcast – when i told people i wanted to be loved, they
thought i just needed a boyfriend. i was afraid. and scared.
and completely horrible.

or maybe that was my perception.

what if i end up like my mother?
what if i end up like my uncle?

i think i'm headed that way.