. A, HOBBS * ⠀

your instinct is to look down:   vision caught between your own reflection in the gently moving water   &   the khaki colored shorts that sit like on you like clothes would a boy.   your father bought them for you,   you packed them to please him when you made it to nationals-   to let him know that his love does not go unnoticed,   little acts of kindness   (   so sits in your suitcase the raggedy   &   slowly tearing teddy bear your mother bought you when you were a child,   it's of less importance but always survived as a reminder to the gentleness that you were owed   /   the gentleness violently torn from your hands by his own desperation   ).

there are lines to not step over,   some places you can't return from.   here you have little to no respect,   what good is a supe who almost let her father slice her neck?   what good is a supe accused of helping him do it to other girls?   but you don't care right now,   not when your heart pounds in your chest whenever you're around...   them.   you should be quiet,   stay silent   &   go along with college until you're out,   until you're free to be someone other than   (   ___   ).   " i'm telling you. "

@mindcaterol is perfect,   she's beautiful,   &   she's never had to speak to you,   why would she?   &   why wouldn't she be weary now?   on top of the fear you already feel at unhealthy amounts inside her.

your body is a haunted house,   your name is a ghost   &   your blood is the frozen over pipes.   you are the neighborhood horror story that kids tell at sleepovers to keep each other up at night,   the building that people pass   &   point to with hushed whispers of rumors they've heard of the monstrosities inside.

he is right,   there is nothing left to save now.   there is nothing that remains of your reputation,   your family,   yourself.   you could not even say that you are small pieces:   waiting to be put back together in a malformed shape.   you are nothing   &   waiting for recreation.

except it can:   death is something uncommon to you,   even if you play it off as such.   people didn't like you,   your family at least   (   hunting midwestern trash who didn't fit in with the rest of wiskayok   ),   &   if it were just that,   if it were just the deer antlers that hang in your home,   or the hide that decorates your pillows   &   house floor,   that would be fine.   that is fine isn't it?   it's how you grew up in the midwest,   that judgement doesn't bother you much...

but the judgement spills over into the paranoia that seeps from your ears   &   sits behind closed eyes   (   you've covered your tracks,   your dad covered your tracks for you...   you were just a lure,   how bad can that be?   )-   yes,   it can get deader than this:   you could be a girl under the butcher knife that is your fathers love,   or if @warpainte wanted to be realistic,   you could be coach,   or the stewardess,   you could be actually dead.