I’m leaving school today heart high on pain. I’m recycled like plastic glass or newspaper. A hand-me-down thrift store child no closer to the next grade because of how many days I made. Rage, my only shield keeping students and teachers at bay and so it is easy to go.
Unceremoniously leaving no one gives a damn. Wedged in the back seat I’m embarrassed to be just another belonging not belonging. Crumbling base stench of smoke rats and mice broken floors corner whores fuck this place. Hope the next isn’t worse Will I ever have a home? Where others know the real me? Make a friend and not move away? I wish I were a throwback something everyone is happy to see when it returns. Instead I’m a pimple gross to look at better off ignored until someone pops my head but I don’t care. I’m not happy even when I’m happy and so it is easy to go.
Like moving to a new county I’m a refugee an extra. I’m thirty something if not forty something in every class. Teachers don’t have time for the new kid. Can’t tell me what they did before the new kid. The rules are a foreign language only understanding parts of them picking up the rest by breaking them being sent out the troublemaker. I won’t make it here. I can’t make it here. But I know the fucker that got me transferred here and so it is easy to go.
A sawed off shotgun in my hands. Power and control ink my hands. Back across the border to my last homeland. Trembling adrenaline as I reach the apartment door. It's locked I use my key BANG! Reload. No one greets me so we play hide and seek. Spray the front closet my trigger finger itches. Holes into the bathroom door no blood flows. Light up under the beds in drawers. Over peels of demonic laughter I sign the refrigeratorstovemicrowavetv but no one is home and so it is easy to go.
In the paper now no one proud. Across new borders no direction found. The FBI close behind ands I do not want to run now someone cares where I am. Black boots by the window my body tenses. Could it be that fucker back for more? Top of the stairs the front door blows in. Sprinting, chest pounding voices he brought friends. Out the back door no shots fired yet. Then bright light
Out the back door no shots fired yet. Then bright light in my right eye down without thought the weight on top of me the knee in my back. Stomach quivering bladder waek as the gun touches my skin thinking of no one and so it is easy to go.
My face wrinkled shut. I feel others arrive their footsteps rumbling against my cheek pressed painfully to the ground. I yearn for the bullet now imagining what awaits me with all of the punks around. so much yelling. I pry open one lid only to see masses of black bulletproof bodies. The metal cuts into my wrists but still alive lifted off the ground forced into the backseat with no control no choice and so it is easy to go.