Malialinda

FRAGILE

mom's moved out of state
and
    bipolar
         brother's
an ass
    uncle's
         schizo on streets

dad could care less about you

    sister preoccupied with her friends

grandparents
        don't want to get their hands dirty

ran
    away from home

living in boyfriend's car

A phrase my dad used to tell me, echoing hollow in my head,

    "You will always have family"

* * *

WHERE I'M FROM

I'm from the fairytale land of princes and princesses.
Of evil stepmothers and dragons.
Of fairies and mermaids. In this land where
I'm from good always defeats evil. The world and its
inhabitants are just a sad shadow.

I'm from the castles and talking woodland
creatures and happily ever afters of the Disney movies
I turn to when the world is too much for me.

I'm from the memories of a wonderful
family and childhood past and gone replaced with a
shattered teenagehood and the most fucked up family
you can imagine. Crazy people, of which I am one,
molesters, angry monsters, fakes, the works.

I am from that mental state where you can hear and see
and feel things that no one else does. The mental
state where you don't know if you can trust your
senses or everyone else's. Is it worse for what you've
seen to be real or unreal? The shadows hold demons,
the air carries unspoken words to my ears and
imaginary fingers brush cold skin.
Faces are nothing but rubbery globs that I know I
should find meaning in but can't. I see beyond the
surface to the cold hard concrete that lies beneath it all.

I'm from the shrinks' leather couches and
their pills I refuse to take.

I'm from my proud and stubborn father,
though I hate to admit it.

I'm from the tears like crystals that you
cry when you know your dreams are impossible. You'll
never be a mermaid. Never be tall enough to be a
runway model.

I'm from the sleep-all-day blues.

I'm from fuck-life, flirt-with-death, head-spinning nights full of
racing your car as fast as it will go; what will happen if I snort this?,
mosh and throw yourself into the next guy and deal with
everyone's blows because you can't feel it tonight, you won't feel it
until tomorrow when the bruises will turn purple and
your neck will refuse to move, but that's OK because
it's not tomorrow, it's only tonight. Smoke until
you're laughing your ass off at nothing and the sand
on the beach turns to bones in a graveyard and the
moon's faces are changing and your friend has turned
into an evil demon who's trying to get you. Drink
until you are rolling around on the floor and love
everyone and don't want to get up or open your eyes
and end up shaking uncontrollably in the night and are
brought against your weak will to the hospital where
they magically put you in a nightgown unbeknownst to you
and you wake up with IVs sticking
out of your body and vomit clumping your hair together
in a way that makes hairspray jealous.

Malialinda is a twenty-something prolonging her adolescence in the darkest, sketchiest hole-in-the-walls of LA that she can find by night and a USC grad student/MSW intern therapist by day. She was diagnosed with schizoeffective disorder. When the craziness builds up inside and demands to be released, she turns to writing as one of her favorite outlets. Her poetry has been published in Breath & Shadow, DOGZPLOT, Clockwise Cat, Poe Little Thing, Berkeley Poetry Review and Admit2. She blogs at Feigning Sanity and Cigarette Lollipops.