“And anyway mom, the boys don’t know anything about me.
They keep saying nothing new in circles.
They keep trying to touch and kiss and leave.
My eyes are going bad.
My teeth are rotting out of my jaw
and I am comfortable being ugly.
And anyway mom,
it is not your job to understand me.
Last night while you were sleeping, I flushed bottles of pills down the toilet.
I do not regret it.
I think I am growing up.
And anyway, I leave footprints places I’ve never been.
You’re always asking why I don’t spend more time with men,
why I’m so alone so often.
I can’t explain the draw of self-induced isolation.
And mom, the speedometer on my car is broken.
I do not dream anymore.
It always tells me I’m going ten miles an hour
even if I go sixty,
even if I’m sitting at a stoplight
and the cops haven’t stopped me.
Mom, I wish you wouldn’t try and stop me.
I wish you would listen when I lay in bed screaming.
I know that raising me couldn’t be easy.
Thank you for trying.
I want you to know that I’m trying too.
Anyway mom, I’m sorry.”