I used to think this piece was done, but now I think it needs refining.
It's a strong piece. I don't even know if I'm strong enough for it, but it picked me anyway.
That's an ugly word.
Just thinking about it now, I can taste it, like acid on my tongue
like the remains of Snow White's apple in the back of my throat
except Snow White was pure and innocent
and I bet you that apple tasted like the sweetest thing on earth to her
too good to be true
so that when she looked back at the old Queen and saw the malice in her eyes-
she knew she was falling,
she was sinking,
she was dying already.
'Cept this wasn't no random chance occurance
and this isn't pure, just clear
so clear
so crystal clear
and cold and hard and lodged in the back of my throat
until I want to get sick again.
It's like everything right now in my life is pointing to that ugly word:
POISON.
and it's not the pills you overdose
it's not the stupid chemicals floating around in your blood
it's a bottle
a nondescript bottle of acid to drown your sorrows in
make you forget everything and make you fucking crazy
until you're the queen and Snow White and trapped in the cycle—
Don't you know the story? That the queen went and dazzled her with ribbons
the pretty swirling colors everywhere
and then choked her with her favorite color ribbon;
that's how the dwarves found her when they got home that night,
pasty white with a bright ribbon around her neck
and luckily they could take it off and everything went right back to normal again because that's how it goes in fairy tales.
You go drown yourself in those swirling lights
and fun and happy and forgetting
and choking. Gasping. Dying. Like an overdose
on pills that never would help you in the first place. Like chemicals
turning your blood to bile, to bitter fire burning, pounding-
a long nail driving through you, right in the middle of your forehead
my head is killing me
my blood is killing me
I'm killing myself from the inside out.
It makes me sick, with shame and guilt and just plain ugliness,
it makes the lights burn my eyes and my head start to stab
because something happened last night
and it screams: POISON
it wails, the accusatory sirens ringing in my head.
It makes my heart feel like it's being pulled on either end of me
and there's a road to nowhere marked 'Morbid Curiosity'
and I wandered that way last night.
I haven't taken poison,
in fact, I think it's kind of fucking stupid,
but my heart has been estranged from me, locked in a glass wall
and all my feelings are so clear: shame and guilt and ugliness,
worry and fear.
I'm scared.
I'm scared of all the scenarios that love to run through my head
opening doors in the ominous forest by the road to nowhere
like I'm sitting backstage waiting for the main act,
TROUBLE and PAIN and HATE and CONFUSION and DEATH
and that hurt look in people's eyes
that says "I expected better of you."
And explanations are only further excuses
and my excuses die away into nothing.
And the stupidest thing is that I'm scared
I'm so fucking scared
I'm scared of what may or may not happen to me
and this isn't about me
except that I'm here
and I'm living.
And Snow White was so beautiful that the poison didn't even mar her
and her prince carried her away without a second thought
and she left everyone else behind. Stupid fairweather friend
and yet I envy her, to be so unattached and uncaring and so lucky and so beautiful
but I've got something she don't got.
I don't know what it is, but there's a reason why I'd never trade places
even though she's good at everything she does and pure and lucky and already winning-
because you know what? I think I'm more special
I think I'm more special than a girl who never really had to think about anything
I think I'm something new and I've got something different than miss Snow White
but I could be wrong:
after all, look where it's gotten me so far.
But I go on and on about me
when someone is lying in a white bed
when someone is not outside where I can hear the shouts of triumph and merriment
and I have to wonder about him,
and I have to wonder about me.
And I have to wonder about that bottle marked POISON
and what it really means.
A girl with skin pale as snow and lips like blood and hair like the raven's wing
innocently cleaning pots and pans and cooking supper
and leaving the dwarves to stay up all night worrying about what might happen to her,
leaving the huntsman to stay up all night worrying about what might happen to him.
Explanations are only further excuses
and I don't want to hear your excuses
I don't want to hear the reasons why sometimes you can get away with things
and even if you can, why you should.
I don't want to hear a thousand justifications for why I shouldn't worry
because I WILL worry
because I will fucking cry myself to sleep at night
because…
because I know how unhappy you really are.
because I'm not Snow White, not beautiful, not lucky, and definitely not unattached,
because I love you.
Pssh, go figure.
I WILL imagine all the dreadful things that could go wrong
and I will hate myself for weakening last night because I forgot-
because I know why you are the way you are:
because you want to reach Snow White,
you want to fly away with your arms around your prince;
The End.
Happily ever after.
Because ribbons cost nothing:
you watch the swirling lights and drown in your favorite color,
you fall down for a little and you lose a little time and when the worried dwarves wake you up, you're none the worse for it
and you get a ribbon in your favorite color, too.
And instead of realizing how lucky you are you continue,
because nothing happened the first time, and that makes everything all right.
But when you bite that bittersweet apple you know before you hit the ground
you know
you're falling,
sinking,
dying,
and when you wake up
[if you wake up]
you leave all your short friends behind.
you leave everything behind.
I hate that road
I hate that road to nowhere because it doesn't look like it will hurt you
because, what's to lose?
because, it'll never happen to me.
because, everyone else is fine.
because, why not?
because, what alarm bells, those tinny little whining sirens don't mean anything anyway
and aren't you wondering?
You know you're wondering,
and you can't judge until you try.
Go on, because on this road, we know
that everyone is Snow White- uncaring and unattatched and beautiful
and we say we're lucky, because nothing's happened…
…yet.
And if we're really lucky, nothing ever will,
because:
here we are innocent.
here we are pure.
here we take POISON
and hopefully,
someday,
we will wake up and find a cure.
