Pick-up trucks and Gasoline

“Are you happy?”

I was sitting in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck the first
time

My dad asked me that.

How the fuck do I respond to that?

How can I look him in the eyes and tell him that his voice makes my
blood shatter?

That when he calls me into the living room

I go over everything I could have done wrong while I try not to
cry.

All he wanted to know is what i wanted for dinner.

How could I turn to him and tell him

that my saturday night plans involve wondering

what the ocean would feel like in my lungs.

The waterfront is so beautiful this time of year.

I even have the perfect white dress.

It smells like my mom.

My nails pierse my palms like the doves that tear at my
eyes.

Have you ever choked on prozac?

That chemical burn that crawls up your throat

like the summer of 2015.

All I want is to be able to tell him

“Dad, you don’t have to pay for pills anymore”

That my depression was an unwelcome visitor,

that guy at the wedding that no one knows,

and everybody hates,

but it’s okay because all I had to do was politely ask him to
leave.

Just like the little lady you want me to be.

But I can’t because he has a gun in his pocket

and his hands are sliding up my dress.

Im choking on a noose of pink satin.

His fingers are matchsticks and i am gasoline.

My depression doesn’t know much about pyrotechnics,

because when I catch light I am not a candle waiting to be snuffed
out.

No, I am a wild fire, I am a lightning strike.

And he thought a pink satin noose could contain me

There is a blow torch in the back of the truck.

My dad doesnt know much about pyrotechnics either.

My dad and my depression seem to get along pretty well
.

I used to love that pink satin noose.

My 5th birthday present.

I saw my dad as a mountain.

A giant, scraping the sky and making her bleed. Mountains
crumble.

And when they crumble they take everything down around
them,

my teeth are broken shards inside a cinnamon smile.

Splintered by your stalagmites.

The weight of mountains can turn rock into riches

and I dont give a
FUCK
If you’re pissed because you wanted a sapphire,

well guess what I am a diamond

and not even the voices in my head can break me.

Not even your voice.