how does it feel to cut i wonder
i imagine it to be bravery of a sort
bravery? maybe you just have to really like art to truly appreciate red
art or bravery or whatever it is (i was never good at this -- describing what i feel? [okay, i was never good at anything] so bear with me) and forgive me if i don't seem very good at this either
maybe i can finally be good at one thing. feeling sorry for myself feeling red feeling sharp happiness. oh wait, that's more than one thing (i was never good at math either)
who do you want me to be why do you want me to be this perfect being with perfect grades with perfect thoughts
i have perfect thoughts the ones in which (elite taught me well, grammar lessons for twenty four hundred dollars, what a shame, stupid daughter) i don't wake up and everyone is happy because there's one more stupid foolish girl is dead
hip hip hooray
i have perfect thoughts in which i am drowning in your bathtub (there's your swimming champion, varsity girl, JO times, lifeguard)
i have perfect thoughts in which i am reclining rather comfortably with an A carved into in my throat forehead wrists (hello mother there's your perfect math test, perfect history test, perfect psych test, perfect english test, no silly little minuses to take away from those shiny bright red A A A A isn't there)
i have perfect thoughts in which you are screaming and i am laughing because it's hurting so much and it feels good because all i feel right now is nothing
you think you scream when you feel pain
dare i try it? there's a razor in the bathroom shower (for shaving and cutting [IT'S ACROSS THE STREET, NOT DOWN THE RIVER] wouldn't want to die before the final act, would we, darlings? no.)
i have perfect thoughts in which look at me now, mommy! look, look, are you proud of my new artwork? we learned about primary colors -- what's important in life, what to focus on, how nothing matters if you can't scrape up that A
do you want to see what i made in class today?
the teacher liked my work! she said i did a wonderful job!
and then i show her my wrists with proud delight and look, a row of seven little A's on each wrist and look, mommy, four point oh!
aren't you ever so proud of me?
who do you think you are.
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