Beat

Nonrhythmic is characteristic of my beat

So I drink one more cup to make it louder

And here comes the finishing number

One last call to knock the breath from my lips.

I'm on my way down

One trip backwards and I'm gone.

But my fingers are still shaking

And the ringing getting in my ears is getting louder

So I drink another cup to bring back the beat.

Memories

At the time I never thought much of it, I never really listened to the song but I knew it didn't sound right coming from my parents. I knew no marriage was perfect, I was old enough to understand that, but I didn't know how bad it was.

We were in the car, driving up to my uncle's house, it's one of the few memories I have left of my family together, and now that I think about it... it was the start of the end. Whenever a song came on the radio my father would sing along; poorly, and with the wrong lyrics and my mother would roll her eyes and tell him to stop. But sometimes my parents would sing a song together and I smiled because I thought it meant the fights that my parents tried to hide were resolving themselves and we were going to stay a family.

I was wrong.

Now that I look back I realize that the only song my parents sang properly together was just foreshadowing the enviable.

I really hate Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. 

Cattails

There was a time when, pulling over at the side of a country road and popping cattails with my brother was the one thing I looked forward most of all. My dad would pluck them out of the bog and me and my little brother would stand in the dirt and hit the cattails on the ground so hard they would pop in an explosion of white fluff. And as we popped more and more I remember thinking that it was like my brother and I had pulled the clouds from the sky, but then I would look up and see the clouds growing thicker and it would be time to leave. 

We piled into the car after fighting for the front seat, and I would watch the fallen clouds be swept up by the wind as we drove off. I wished that I were that light and I could fly away with one gust of wind provided by a passing car. Sometimes I felt as if I would.

Maybe then I wouldn't have felt so heavy.

But I'm  not that seeds from the cattails that my brother and I popped on the side of the road. I can't fly into the air on the tails of wind left behind by the cars. I am a broken stalk that we threw back into the bog. I am heavy and brought down by mud and garbage. 

I will never float or fly away.

I will always be stuck. 

I would be pretty...

I would be pretty if I wasn't so ugly inside.

I cover my face with paint to hide myself like Dorian Gray.

To fool myself as well as others into believing that I am attractive person,

But when the paint on my face cracks and smudges,  

And my words come out like vomit before I can stop them,

And I hurt the people I care most about...

I become painfully aware of all my flaws.

And I hate myself for not being stronger,

For not being kinder,

For not being a good person,

For these people,

Because these people I love actually think I AM a beautiful person

But I'm not.