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.