 wrote this poem about you &it made my english teacher cry. we sat down &she told me i had to be something. i had to do something really good because she had what i had &threw it away; she wanted to run away &be a writer &die in a rat-infested apartment and be published posthumously but she lives with her mom &dad &teaches snobby upper-middle class catholic girls how to spell &that's why i made her cry. so anyway i was in the counselor's office tracing my fingers on the shiny fibers in the soundproofing &she handed me a bandaid to stop the black blood gurgle spurting ---i was chewing my nails over you last night--- but i put it over my big brown scar in case whatever tried to escape the first time around couldn't try to get out anymore &i told her that &she said you're on the wrong medicine, maybe. looked up at the hole in the ceiling into sky &only sky, looked straight into the spot where heaven should have been &closed my eyes//// so baby, if it rained would you half expect me to show up at yr door with my curly hair, my sloppy eyeliner, a poem in my left hand &right on time? when sorry is not good enough,
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