the president wants us to smoke cigarettes and die

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 09, 2018

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Submitted: August 09, 2018

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The President Wants Us to Smoke Cigarettes and D I E

 

It’s everywhere.

The throb of worthlessness

It’s airborne, in our water, we inject it into infants.

A defining moment so rarely comes as a kiss on the cheeks and a flash of lightning

More often it is waking up hungover in a hotel bathroom.

My moment came years too early.

“Can’t you see it!” He is crying.

He is a lot bigger than me and he hasn't shaved in days

His arms are lazilly chiseled and

he is crying

His rough hands smear blood across the kitchen counter.

“We are nothing.”

He is always so smart, he is always right.

This fresh reality shattered my shin bones.

Now I see it in everything.

The shades of grey under smiling eyes.

The passenger that flinches when the bus stops to hard.

The cringe in her cheeks when he wraps his hand around her wrist.

The coughs echoing from a bathroom stall.

The way teenagers worship the pills in Hannah Baker’s stomach.

Everyone knows their worth,

or else Phillip Morris wouldn't make so much goddamn money.

Did you know,

that every single president who has stood before and inauguration crowd,

looks out and sees nothing but numbers, sprawling all across the countryside and through every street intertwining through a divided nation because

that is all we are.
I am nothing.

Didn't you hear me! I said I’m nothing!

I am 56% in algebra 2, 177 pounds, 4 inches too tall,

30 milligrams of Prozac, 50 milligrams of Unisom,

No. 15889, not smart enough.

2677566, a replaceable, exhausted employee.  

I am $5,000 from the accident, 15 dreadful years silent.

2 broken hearts, 1 broken home.

How many times did she hit you?

But, how many Millers had she had first?

It was 3pm on a Monday afternoon and I was home alone

when the lightbulb in my lamp burst due to a burnt out filament.

You can’t read when there's no lights on,

you don’t cry if you can’t see your own body.

Darkness is ecstasy, the blackness bores revelation.

I have found in the absence of light that I am

the daughter of moss and stone.

I am the love child of the Atlantic and Pacific.

I have dug fingernails deep into my scalp and found

that blood still exists.

Just last week, I sat on the railing overlooking a lake where I used to go to feel loved

and I threw myself in, letting the waves steal away the oxygen, letting every single nerve in my body burst into an oblivion of feeling and pain.

I have discovered constellations in my veins while searching my body for any

sign of life.

I am alive and I

feel your breath on my spine,

I am alive and I need anyone else to be too.

 


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