bad girl

Did you know that everyone has a bite that is hard and violent? Did you know that my slack jaw and sore teeth could never hurt you? What scared you so badly about me? Couldn’t you tell that in every moment where I looked at you I went soft? We forget that the worst parts of ourselves are our hands and our teeth so I bite my nails to quell something that I can not name. It’s not my job anymore or ever to have been responsible for any part of you or your pain or anything else. I would like you to remember that, and I would like you to close your gaping mouth and stop threatening me with all the ways that you can still hurt me. Because I was never able to weaponize myself in order to hurt you. That hand always turns inwards. And yeah, sure, I’ll admit to it. I am so obsessed with the idea of your life and what it’s like compared to mine. I would like you to suffer less than I do, because if you were suffering I would want to fix it somehow. There’s no way to decode the part of me that wants to help you. It’s depressingly Sisyphean. No way out or through.

Do you remember how to calm me down? Do you remember what I like about you? And I hope you know that I did like you a lot. One of my worst qualities is wanting to know what everything looks like from your perspective. Is what is picturesque to me picturesque to you? Did you ever watch me from the corner of the room, wishing I’d do something drastic for once? Wishing I would make a decision? And if you read a word I have ever written I hope you know where to look to find yourself in it. And if you find yourself where you shouldn’t, I hope you remember all the awful things you did that I forgave you for almost instantaneously. I hope that helps you to forgive me. Sometimes I wonder if Gemma ever told you what I said to her once, that afternoon in my car. About how I think I’d let you hit me if it made you feel any better. How I think there’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t be able to rationalize. It was such a sunny day when I said that, how cruel is that? Can you forgive me for letting this drag on and on and on? I promise you that if I could stop, then I would. But my memory is tricky and hazy and I think that had I known what you were going to do, I would have done everything before that anyway, just to be able to talk about it.

My teeth have been fucked since I was just a baby, and you were going to be around to meet me and hurt me no matter what. It drives me crazy how I can’t hurt you like you can hurt me. When I was convinced a few months back that my teeth were falling out, it felt like how it did when I realized there was no dragging you back. You were limp and heavy and I am not strong or persuasive. My desperation drove you away and I bit through my tongue on the drive to New York because I didn’t want to leave and everything that I have ever wanted means nothing anymore because you don’t want me anymore. My mouth is soft and useless until I want to hurt myself. I’m all backwards and turned around, all bite no bark. Not a word I could say would turn things around. I wished somebody would pull each of my teeth out in a way that guarantees pain. There’s nothing special about a high school heartbreak or rotten teeth. When there’s nothing left to bite with, when it’s all over, I will still be pawing at my empty mouth with a hangnail that I can’t bite off, looking for something to catch you with.

Gemma says I broke your heart. Gemma thinks I am badly behaved and unworthy of love. Gemma tells you dirty things about me to reel you in, and I don’t care because I’ve said worse. Gemma is crazy but so am I, so I am not even really all that mad at her. I can’t be mad at someone who’s crazy. And on that note, tell me, what’s the worst thing that you’ve ever said about me? Once the walls are down and your muzzle’s off, I’m sure that you can really get so creative with it. Do you theorize with your friends about what I’ve done to other people? Do you call me psycho with all that confidence that you don’t fucking have? I bet you see me everywhere. I bet you think about me when you see a collared dog with dull teeth. I will not hurt you, and you don’t care either way. I’ll care until everything is gone and dead and all that’s left is a made up memory of the time you called me pretty, where I smiled with my crooked mouth and you weren’t scared at all.