My brain doesn’t work in the third dimension anymore. 

Nothing happened. I was just worried about

the way my grandfather’s smile curls when he calls me pretty.

The way my father has to remind him I’m his granddaughter. 

Can calcium kill you? I used to be smart and now I’m lactose intolerant. 

My parents take me notebook shopping so I can pick out a new therapist. 

I throw up in the clearance aisle and we leave without paying. 

No wonder my mood ring is purple. I’m high on ultraviolet

nothing. It’s just a Tuesday and I can’t stop laughing

about how I want to steal the traffic cone on my street.

You’re not here like I am. 

Butterfly gardens underneath period-marked mattresses.

She is a thirteen-year-old’s first bikini and I hate it when she gets like this.

Tank-top-low-cut-cutting-up-skin til it shows. On purpose.

She is a lying mirror. 

Six months ago I thought I was a lesbian. 

Now I have a boyfriend and I’m selling my boobs back to God.

I’ve hit the deep end and I’m breathing fine, 

chiropracting book spines and learning to smoke

from movies. 

I used to be a copycat and now I'm a phoenix wishing on angel numbers.

Let’s have a college conversation and lower my expectations

about if or how and when or if I will ever see my grandfather 

remember to smile for a photo again. 

I strike again against the matchbox. 

Can you feel the pen in your back when I write about you?

Because I think if my chest/I think if my heart 

grows another size,

I’m going to implode.