"I'm tired." I told her. I should have asked her to check my heart.
She stuck a needle in me, and drew the blood from my veins that would tell her exactly everything she needed to know. She told me I was iron deficient, but don't worry, there's a pill to fix that. In addition, I should eat more spinach and red meat.
I should have asked her to check my heart.
But I'm tired of writing about shadows and grass that gets cut every Saturday. About clouds that let it rain and the formation an uncertainty of ravens create when they fly south. About the sound of leaves dying every fall and how to win a blinking contest with the sun. About love, laughter, boys that always leave. I've been told honesty is the best writing.
All I ever wanted to talk about was the scarlet tears that forget to fall from shattered hearts. The toilet bowl that refuses to hold more than the lining of my stomach. And words like whore, faggot, shit that no amount of makeup can hide.
I should have asked her to check my heart.
You know me, but you don't know me. This is my last breath before you try to fit together both of the girls you think you know. All I ever wanted to try to fit them together. But it has been so long and I'm tired of trying.
I'm tired of your loud words and my silent ones. I know silence kills, but I can't bring myself to speak because words last forever. I'm tired of knee length skirts and the acceptance to BYU that lays on my carpet with scriptures and hurried prayers.
I should have asked her to check my heart.
I'm tired of the cycle we keep going through that I convince myself is nothing like what I learned about in sociology. I'm tired of texting. Call me because you can never fake that waver in your voice as well you fake how was your day. I'm tired of secrets I keep for him and the words I keep coming up with to explain them.
I've heard it takes just 21 days to get into a habit. But it's been 4 years and I'm still not sure how to respond when my stepdad says he loves me.
Maybe I should just stick to eating spinach and red meat, drink a glass of water to wash down that pill, and hope to God and Allah and Buda and every other God that is out there that I'm iron deficient.
I'm tired, and I should have asked her to check my heart.
-For Forever, Auburn Crane
