If you could see them everyday
if they could see you everyday
they would see, would you
let them see, would you
unzip yourself like a jacket
like an overflowing backpack
of useless fiction, would you
let yourself tear at the seams and spill
open like something cheaply made
like thread that doesn’t hold, would you.
you are an open book girl (tch that’s cliché)
you are an open book of clichés girl.
Where are you going, little girl.
they may be your blood but here
is your skin and face, girl.
here is the hour you swallowed
between lunch and dinner
regurgitated in the dead of the night
when you’re staring at glow-in-the-dark
stars on your ceiling
here is your 24-minute day
how was your day
it was good thank you how was yours
oh it was good too what did you do
oh the usual
the usual the usual
here is your usual world, little girl.
Nineteen girl, older than the boy
in the hallway who asked you why
you were going home again
nineteen girl, you are a bird
not an ostrich so you better fly
you better fly you better fly.
where are you flying if you’re only flying home, little girl.
but if you could see them at home everyday would you.