if I had the time
to water the wilted spider plant
in the corner of my room
to pick up the dress on my floor
to feel hurt
I would punch a hole through the wall
me, the drunken father
to pull the down the bookshelves
and watch Sylvia Plath’s legacy crash to the ground
and melt into the carpet
burn every notebook
every photograph
everyone is an artist now
smash the guitar through the window screen
and escape
this town is too small to breathe
and my lungs too weak
patience is lacking
I’m a girl
none of us are special
wrapping ribbons around innocence
duct tape my mouth shut
feed me to the sharks
I can’t stay here