While I sleep,
I know not what goes on in the world,
and sometimes I think maybe it’s better that way
I don’t want to know that people are dying,
I don’t want to know of the horrible things that “human beings” do to each other.
Because it’s not humane to be human anymore.
My car spills invisible terror into the ozone
While I drive to work to support the corporate machine?
What about my flatulence?
Because I fart maybe 6,7,8,9,14 times a day.
Dear god, what I must be doing to this planet.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love living here on earth,
I’m pretty sure that it’s like the best planet that supports human life on the entire solar system.
But that’s probably not saying much.
I wonder if there are aliens,
If they wonder about us?
If they have the
“Alien Discovery Channel” that runs 3 hour marathons of shows about Earth and how
crazily mysterious it all is.
Thought about cutting myself because someone I know
thought about cutting themselves
and I remember
Just how good it used to feel.
But I won’t do it anymore because it’s not
people look at you funny when they see your scars
because they don’t give a shit about how haunted your past is
about the ghost looming in your closet
or the razorblade you attached to your skin
they just think you have problems
and are nothing like them.
some people heal better than others, and sometimes
there isn’t a way to cover up your past and I
wouldn’t want her to even if she could, because it
reminds me that she’s had it hard, and it reminds me that,
I’ve had it hard, but it reminds me that,
other people have it harder
Be proud of your scars, because if you don’t have them
Then you’re not human
When you stand naked in front of the mirror
If there’s not a mark on your body
or a tear in your skin
or a cut somewhere on you
“I haven’t fucking lived”
because you haven’t.
If you don’t have a childhood story about one of your scars
Then I pity you,
because when the naked truth is revealed...
...you gotta have something to say.