I Still Own My Heart, Which I

Oh, And I Certainly Don't Suffer From Schizophrenia. I Quite Enjoy It. And So Do I.

And If I End Up With Blood On My Hands, Well I Know, That You'll Understand, 'cause I Fight Like A Girl.

And, What's More, This 'precious' Body, The Very Same That Is Hooted And Honked At, Demeaned Both In Daily Life As Well As In Ever Existing Form Of Media, Harrassed, Molested, Raped, And, If All That Wasn't Enough, Is Forever Poked And Prodded And Weighed And Constantly Wrong For Eating Too Much, Eating Too Little, A Million Details Which All Point To The Solitary Girl, To Every Solitary Girl, And Say: Destroy Yourself.

I Am My Heart's Undertaker. Daily I Go And Retrieve Its Tattered Remains, Place Them Delicately Into Its Little Coffin, And Bury It In The Depths Of My Memory, Only To Have To Do It All Again Tomorrow.

Nothing In My Life Has Ever Made Me Want To Commit Suicide More Than People's Reaction To My Trying To Commit Suicide.