4/22 lagoon day

My brother made my cry today.

It wasn't a hefty cry,
just one of those inadequacy cries where every word you don't say
feels like whipping wet towels across tender skin.

And you're 

silent

silent

silent

until the sound of your fork and knife against the hardwood mixed with

shattered plates and barbecue chicken all over your socks

that just looks like a blur of orange

because you tripped as you left the room,

silent

silent.

He said I looked stupid with the hat on.

Then my other brother said it.

My mom laughed a little and that's when the glass hit the footsteps
and I ditched the ice maker for a closet full of things
that aren't even mine.

Since technically I'm just a guest here.

Because inadequacy is the delicious temper that competes with your silence.
It's the sound of concrete cracking against your skull
and it's the bitterness you feel in your old favorite songs.

Why are humans so judgmental, mama?

Why did you stand by while your sons cornered your oldest daughter

who has one week left before the boxes block the doorway

and it's no longer a lock that keeps all of you out?

And why did you just beckon for him to apologize?
He didn't.

He's not sorry anyway.

because he's a sophomore with a skewered head who literally believes

"baseball players are the smartest athletes" and everyone thinks

his hair and his judgment and his smile

are just attributes to the tall-dark frame of human

and they remind me how unrelated we look

"because he's beautiful"

so what does that make me?

I got enough people reminding the sunken, fluorescent girl that she wasn't any different

and I'm not insecure

and I'm fine with myself

but I wasn't then.

You all see the tender eyes and good vibes
the way he walks next to girls with the brim of his hat just over his brow

he used to wear hats every day
until someone complimented his hair.

And his head swelled
and he watched his sister bleed out on the pavement
without calling the police

HE LEFT ME ON THE SIDEWALK, ALONE, BLEEDING EVERYWHERE.

And they still called him beautiful

while months of early mornings that felt like broken femurs,

when he screamed profanities at me and ripped the ponytail from the head

while I bled 

and bled 

and bled.

You see the scrawny boy with an even temper
and gloss smile
and the jerseys he sleeps on
and the sweatshirts he hit me for wearing.

But you don't see the boy who took the car keys

who screamed for his sister to stop the car

but it was too late.

You didn't watch him stumble backwards when she dropped her head against the wheel

and watched the blood roll from her face to the tar

and you didn't watch him leave her there

alone

bleeding

bleeding

crying

He didn't even say goodbye.

So I won't say goodbye.

I won't.