Sad Girl (Spoken Word)

I will never be your sad girl.

That little trinket you wear around your ego

to make it sparkle

like diamonds

girls wear around their necks;

like you wear your hands around their necks.

Women wear these abuses like pearl necklaces,

as if they were lost jewels excavated from behind the pearly gates;

a Christmas gift

from the man who choked sapphires out of your mothers eyes

and paid the way for her heaven headed expedition.

A gift

wrapped like knuckles beating brass colored choruses

into her copper skin, harvesting rubies;

sweet and sticking to her body after he

scrubbed away his sins from the surface.

A gift from God.

As if his hands had been blessed by St. Peters to heal those

broken girls;

as if

they themselves placed the crown on the king of heaven

and got to choose who entered

his kingdom.

But I will never be your sad girl;

that Daisy Buchanan girl;

that beautiful little fool

who wears bruises like galaxies breathing against her chest;

who wears lace like butterfly kisses and whispers that break through her skin.

Heaven forbid a break in.

Hide the golden glory behind your teeth

so that it’s not mistaken for treasure.

See, I was once told that boys deserved something for loving sad girls;

that they became saints when they lowered themselves to loving me.

But I will never be your sad girl.

I will never be your little broken girl.

I will never be your broke girl.

I hold gold mines between my temples.

I have more wealth in my breath then you have in your pocket,

so don’t look at me like I’m broken.

Don’t tell me that you are going to “fix” me,

as if your palms hold scripture instructions on how to

repair me like a broken watch.

Crystal quartz finds its solace in my caverns.

I hold mountains in my muscles.

Garnett and lapis lazuli

garnish the underground beneath my skin

like a needle point masterpiece.

So I will never be your sad girl.

I will never wear the marks of your fingertips

like jewelry;

like canyons that dug their way into my skin.

I will never be an object of your affection,

because I am a whole goddamn gold mine.

I will never again let anyone touch me

who believes they are “fixing” me;

that it is their god given duty

to recreate this sad girl in his image;

to put pieces of themselves into making me whole;

to think of me as anything less than whole.

I hold gold mines in my mind,

diamonds between my thighs,

and I could break you

before you could ever “fix” me

because I will never be your sad girl.