a list of things i consider telling my doctor, but don't:
i'd tell him i am nothing more than fawn bones. i am no bigger than a pygmy child. or
i'd show him how my wrists snap off or how my fingers are smaller than his and i'd tell him to make a note that reads: 'her fingers don't work well' and one that says: 'she tries.' and then i'd tell him to cross it out.
i'd tell him about counting tiles and forgetting to swim. i'd give him the definition of apathy.
i'd tell him how i stole silver spoons and then threw them away.
i'd show him fragments of paper from that time i tore apart the maps. that time i burned the instruction manuals. and
i'd make him look at my feet. i'd tell him that they're covered in mud and that they are the most pure thing i have.
he'd make a note: 'muddy feet' and i'd cry. i'd confess.
ididitididitididit. i broke the lamp. i broke ties. i broke.
i'd draw him a