poem: again

it started again in her later years, when she had only

just declared independence. she sat alone (again) and bit her thumb with the

intention of blood. at first it was art class with the good conversations

spinning away from her like spanish gold and she

was too shy to walk from ceramics to drawing and join their

black parade. now she is isolated for whatever terrible reasons

(people don’t like her. she can’t sell herself and the price can be

romantically justified, but it doesn’t change the aloneness). it is

tiring to have idols beaten down again and again and feel

always like nothing

it is tiring to have your brain spinning into itself and mocking you:

she is stupid to keep trying, to keep caring. she will cry herself to

sleep again: so what? depression is a fine subculture but you

are not good enough for it.

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