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Saturday, June 4, 2016

Things That Happened to Me In High School That Wouldn't Be Appropriate To Talk About In A High School


(I saw a spoken word poem about this on the Internet, so I decided to take my own spin on it. Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COSt8rk7E2k)

For days, I sat at home, lying in bed, crying just quietly enough where no one could hear me, pretending I was sick, so I didn't have to face the day. Not because I didn't want to take the geometry test or because my friends didn't want to talk to me, but because I was sad. Nothing stemmed the sadness, I just felt as if my body was not my own and I was being ruled by an evil dictator who's only decree was for me to take a whole bottle of aspirin and wait for the white light.

I didn't know exactly that this was an illness of the mind. I didn't know what suicide was. That is, until one day, Jimmy didn't come to school and I heard he'd jumped off of his roof a couple of days later.

The first time I had sex, I thought it would make me an adult and that I was in love. I stole a condom from my mother and he fumblingly put it on and proceeded to kiss me afterwards. I counted my ceiling tiles the whole time as he laid on top of me, thrusting. I felt empty the whole time and after he'd left, I turned on late night Cinemax and put my hand in my pants until my lady parts sneezed.

 I used to stay up to listen to late night radio talk shows while my parents yelled at each other in the basement where I would sleep. I heard a loud noise and my mother came out holding her face, crying. I pretended that I was sleeping when my father followed her up the stairs.

I was a messy kid. I didn't know how to do things properly. Each time I didn't make my bed, a spanking was given. Each time, it wasn't done right. Same thing. Each time, I didn't do the dishes. Same thing. And every time I would cry, I got more. Afterwards, I would cry in the basement bathroom, praying to God no one would hear me.

The one time I didn't want to go over to my grandmother's house, my mom hit me so hard, a blood vessel in my eye busted. I told my doctor that I ran into a pole. 
The first time I was called a slut was by one of my friends after I made out with boyfriend in the bathroom on the fifth floor. I wasn't offended, until I realized much later I was supposed to be.
 
 I was a tiny candle as a child, but my flame started to slowly dissipate every night after I'd throw up my dinner in bathroom. And I carved "skinny' into my wrists with a safety pin over and over again until I was all burnt out.

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