i always wanted nicknames
from friends -- something
to assure me that i would
be remembered as anything
but who i really was.
no one could ever think of one.

i never broke a bone
or chewed myself into a
cavity. i made up for
that when i started
cutting the thin skins
of various body parts.
(sitting on the backs of
toilets in my highschool
bathrooms.)

i dreamed of strong men
who chased me, crushed me,
and left me to die with
my mother. i was always
afraid of real people,
not monsters, in my closet.

i do not know if my dad
still has blonde
hair and a sarcastic
smile like the one i saw
in a 1981 photo
that my mother pretends
to not keep.

she showed me
the type of woman
i never wanted to become.
all tears and unrelenting
need to be validated,
propped up.

and when they told me
i was bipolar -
it was genetic,
i was defective -
i felt better.

01/01/2006

Posted on 03/13/2007
Copyright © 2024 Meghan Helmich