kaja rae lucas
write a letter to your father.
don’t send it. just stare at it until it
becomes you and you become it.
take your medication like your lover
took your soul out of the paper cranes you folded
for her (about her / with her).
if you were paying attention to the news;
stop.
if you were eating donuts sparingly
eat them more regularly.
prepare for hibernation.
prepare to die.
prepare for electroshock with
little nodes on your skull where the electricity goes
when you come home, pray it doesn’t snow
don’t tell your therapist he already knows
a moment is a moment even when it’s not about you though;
he tells you “you think about yourself too much”
you tell him, “who else thinks of me?”
and that’s the disorder,
you don’t think anyone
is thinking of you
not even your lover.
and some days she does. most days she doesn’t.
prepare to lie to your therapist
he doesn’t know you
he only gives a damn about you in the tongue
of pity
please reward yourself with a drink
(not an overdose)
reward because you have learned the thing
that matters most; you are only as human
as you let yourself imagine you are.
because otherwise, you’re just a devil with no
imagination. this way, you’re at least creative.
learn how to write a novel.
learn how to write a eulogy.
one for yourself / one for the ancestors.
learn how to ache without body.
learn the message of soul.
learn to feel human.
therapist tells you; “you know you never
think of yourself as human.”
and you laugh, because you’re more psychotic
than person. psychiatrist tells you “that’s not
a state of being, it’s an illness” you tell him
try it for yourself and tell me how you feel.
that letter; actually write it.
one for yourself and one for your father
in which you imagine them both as your abuser
(which is a lie in both cases.)
send it with your suicide note
notice it will probably take seven days for it to
make it to your family
scrap it. scrap the letter. scrap the therapist.
you’re hurting but not enough to talk about it.
