To hell with what cinema says,
Nobody wants pieces and shards and
Broken glass is intimidating
And a waste of time.
You get your hands dirty and cut
And nobody wants to make their
Lives harder than it already is.
No one wants to embrace shards of the windshield
That shattered in a wreck that no one can explain to you.
Nobody wants to fix me.
No one wants the half blind, half snarling, half whimpering
Creature in the back of its cage
When you're looking for a sweet thing to cuddle.
You know that its been hit and starved
But that you are not the one that will fix it,
Maybe it's beyond that already.
This marble column broke and
No one is looking for rubble.
No one worth a shit is wandering
Psych wards looking for beauty
Or love or for me.
Because there is no girl, interrupted.
The heart that thrashes against its rib cage is not interrupted;
And she is hardly quieted.
Her pills are given to her softly and hesitantly,
With words of sympathy and lies
From nurses that don’t want to be there.
Pain does not glitter in my eyes
Like a twinkle of sacred knowledge.
There is no spark of excitement on my face.
I am dull and sunbleached
Like an abandoned car in a ditch
That keeps getting passed by;
People remembering the blown out roof
and the broken glass.
It’s full of rot and rust and burrowing creatures.
There is no more soft twinking in my features.
I have been star crossed with attrition
And I have been sallow and pale
And I was not lovely or comely or elegant
My flesh was dried out from sweating and wailing
And I smelled like chlorine from trying in vain
To strip myself of my skin
To peel it off like an orange rind and
Escape from everything that hurt
And that I couldn’t describe.
So don't tell me that we build upon pain
Because it is turpentine to the soul.
All my original pieces were shattered and stolen
And I have parts that will never be whole.
And I don’t even have the sauter
To make a stained glass window.
Crying pretty is a myth
If I weep then I scream and the
Mask of mascara, there to hide what's inside,
Melts and washes away.
It is wailing catharsis
That I could never seem to find;
It is blubbering after the sex and self destruction
That I thought would finally burn me down
To soot so that I might rest
In Ashes on the mantle in my childhood home.
I am not beautiful the way that
Is is not beautiful
It is blood and fire and coming home
to never be the same.
It is abandoned battlefields
And swallowing hard, all the fights that you lost.
It’s the constant smell of the napalm you ran from
And the people you had to leave behind.
I am beautiful the way you
Climb out of your own coffin and
screaming that you deserve better.
Telling the only people at your wake,
Your favorite uncle and your mother,
To cease their whisky-lament;
To wait for me because I think I’ve earned a drink.
I am not beautiful.
I am a newly born star;
Reaped of collapse and original death.
I am littered with soil from clawing out of the ground.
I pulled myself from destruction.
And the knees that I skinned
From crawling when I was too weak to stand
Is gold leaf upon my flesh.
These scars are electricity and I am beyond being pretty
I restrung my veins and rewrote my bones
And I used iron and rock salt
I fixed myself because no one wanted to
And no else could
Aphrodite was demolished and I built Athena from the dust
I ugly cried for three years
Till I got fucking tired
Of waiting and wailing and wallowing
Of making myself sick over everybody I pretended to love
Of raging against my lungs and raging against sleep
I got fucking tired
Because there is no more room for self pity