The Best Time To Talk To Ghosts

I Reach For Funny Books All The Time To Help Me Get Through Life.

My English Teacher Has No Face. She Has Uncombed Stringy Hair That Droops On Her Shoulders. The Hair Is Black From Her Part To Her Ears And Then Neon Orange To The Frizzy Ends. I Can't Decide If She Had Pissed Off Her Hairdresser Or Is Morphing Into A Monarch Butterfly. I Call Her Hairwoman.

I Swallowed The Fear. It’s Always There– Fear– And If You Don’t Stay On Top Of It, You’ll Drown. I Swallowed Again And Stood Tall, Shoulders Broad, Arms Loose. I Was Balanced, Ready To Move. My Body Said, “yeah, You’re Bigger And Stronger, But If You Touch This, I Will Hurt You.

I Know My Head Isn't Screwed On Straight. I Want To Leave, Transfer, Warp Myself To Another Galaxy. I Want To Confess Everything, Hand Over The Guilt And Mistake And Anger To Someone Else. There Is A Beast In My Gut, I Can Hear It Scraping Away At The Inside Of My Ribs. Even If I Dump The Memory, It Will Stay With Me, Staining Me. My Closest Is A Good Thing, A Quiet Place That Helps Me Hold These Thoughts Inside My Head Where No One Can Hear Them.

We've Fallen Down On Our Responsibility To Our Children By Somehow Creating This World Where They're Surrounded By Images Of Sexuality; And Yet, We As Adults Struggle To Talk To Kids Honestly About Sex, The Rules Of Dignity And Consent.