fist through the wall

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