Wow, this is scary. Today, I am wearing lacy black underwear. For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them. And underneath that? I am absolutely naked. And I’ve got skin. Miles, and miles of skin. I’ve got skin to cover up all my thoughts like saran wrap that you can see through what leftovers are inside from the night before. And despite what you might think my skin is soft and smooth and easily scarred. But that doesn’t matter, right? You don’t care how soft my skin is. You just wanna hear about what my fingers do in the dark. But what if all they do is crack open windows? So I can see lightening through the clouds. What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air? One, two, three. Some girls know all the lyrics to each others songs. They find harmonies in their laughter. Their linked elbows, echo in tune. What if I can’t hum on key? Wait! Come back! What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears? Some people can recognise a tree a front yard and know they’ve made it home. How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking? How long before I’m lost for good? It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning. It must be possible to swim, without becoming water yourself. But I keep swallowing what I thought was air I keep finding stones tided to my feet. It sounds like shit. Do you write? You look like you write. I do but- not in a show anybody – ever. You knew the shit I shared was personal. You knew where it came from and you knew it would get people talking. You should publish this. No – no way. And then you turned around, and made my most private thoughts a public spectacle. [Today I am wearing lacy black underwear] [I wonder who’s the skank who wrote this?] Why would she write something like this? It’s so humiliating. It’s her writing. I can totally recognise it. What the hell, Ryan? So you bare your heart to one person and everybody ends up laughing. How could you do that to me? I did you a favour, Hannah. You’re a beautiful poet your work deserved to be heard. It’s my life Ryan, it’s not yours! Get your own! I wonder who wrote it. One dark human being, that’s for sure. I’m not sure I’d want to hang out with her. Hannah, was crying out for help right under their noses. And under ours. And we need to move. No, I’m a- paperback, write in the margins kind of girl. I’m never going back. Hey, it’s so good to see you. We’ve missed you. You have? Shit happens, and people suck. Well um- I don’t really write poetry anymore. Maybe that’s why I stopped writing? And eventually started making tapes. I started with Justin Hannah, right? Right. and then Jessica. Who each broke my heart. Fuck you! Alex Tyler Courtney Marcus. Who each helped to destroy my reputation. What the fuck, Courtney? Yeah, everyone already thinks she’s a slut so why not just pile on? On through Zach, and Ryan who broke my spirit. Why me, Zach? Why me? Through tape number twelve. Bryce Walker. We’re just having fun. Who broke my soul. But a funny thing happened as I finished number twelve I felt something shift. I had poured it all out. And for a minute just a minute I felt like maybe I could beat this.