an autobiography

I want to run
when someone gets close enough
to hear me breathing
to see my father leaving
to watch the heart that my mother wove into me
breaking, shattered on the ground

I lose my vision
when someone looks close enough
to see the dullness of my big eyes
plastered open from the painted emptiness
I'm sure they look at my eyeliner
how it is a reflection of the way I do most things
close, but never quite right

I can't breathe
what happened this morning?
where were you, did you like, die?
why do you wear those marks like punctuation?
like something you never learned
they look like fishnets
seductive, but I always slip through the holes
and hit my head
hard enough to feel some blood again

I am a child who is hooked on all the wrong things
like loneliness, fire, and documentaries
instead of phonics