I bled it all out in two days

      Sometimes I think we lost so much truth with translation. Like what if it wasn't that women in the past weren't allowed in holy places during menses because they were "unclean." But because they were "dirty" like of dirt,  of the earth, like of where we began and where we end up? In middle school I knew a boy whose father said to never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die. But I would trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die for exactly that reason. Unlocked an ancient truth on how to survive...why wouldn't I listen? I should be listening and not speaking but that's not what I've been doing.

      I've been wallowing like a piggy in the mud in love of the fantasy. But the bleak reality is industrial slaughterhouse. Nail gun to the head, burn off the hair, leg still kicking, hanging from a hook, continue down the disassembly line. I tried to be hardened and practical but my efforts didn't last a whole week. I softened like cream cheese;  It's seems you should be less lovely. Try not to float when you walk. Have you tried that? Don't be so pretty or interesting. God, don't be smart. Don't exist in ways that makes people want to care for you or adore you. If you could only just do that. I want to belong in the earth not in the factory farm. But I think we both know where I'm going.

     I am formally petitioning God to intervene with a translator or editor to fix all that I say to be kinder and sweeter and clearer at least for a little while. I'm hurting everyone around me including myself and cannot stop. Maybe nothing needs said. Maybe I should and need to quit talking, quit sharing. I need left unread. I have nothing to give. I am borrowing from a child's empty piggy bank. I was bankrupt at birth. 

     I am bleeding like a stuck pig. Bleeding out so unclean and it is "unclean." It's not a translation error. I was born discarded from the start. Don't belong in holy places like Churches and Mosques and Synagogues or your life. I don't need a translator or editor, I need a time machine. Someone call my dead mother. Please tell her I need to be a newborn in the dumpster out back thrown out on prom night and never meant to live. Paint me blue from lack of air. Put nothing but blue filters on my photo. Don't look at photos of me. It's not worth the time.

     For the foreseeable future, everything I touch will be hard. Maybe I can be softer. Maybe not. God, just don't let me make it fucking worse. It's for everything I love, not for me.