Piñata body and hearing the gun shot.

Most people CUT their wrists, so they say--
And when they find me crumpled and clean
they'll be confused and so so proud-- they'll
say that I'm a good girl because I know
how to die quietly and not make a scene.
I know how to die like taxidermy. Like
the deer head mounted above your uncles
pool table in the basement-- her eyes still listening
for what a gun shot should look like--
perks her ears to smell her own blood
and falling like jar of marbles on the kitchen floor--
is she beautiful?
They make me hold out my wrists out as proof
that there's no scores. No lacerations. No wound--
check my palms for self-stigmata
If only they knew what matches are for.
Forearms are for counting your flaws in lines.
The folds of hips make the cuts into gills.
Breathe in blood and milk--
accordion my body music-- but what
they expected least was for me to lock
myself in my room and begin with paper machete--
each strip of newspaper fused ink with my flesh--
my forehead was a headline about Syria and 
how many stuffed animals they lost
to matches and gasoline-- I paste the "want ads"
across my breasts so I can be flat-chested like
a good dyke-- use the comics for my forearms 
because there's nothing more funny than 
cutting yourself open to find candy-- used the
sports section to wrap around my waist 
because that's all the boys read anyway.
I started with tootsie rolls and moved on to
root beer barrels-- one by one down my throat--
closed my eyes like a deer-- swallowed and stuffed
in my gills-- strands of licorice-- jelly-filled strawberries
bricks of crackle-chocolate and taffy and
ruptured bags of skittles like marbles on the kitchen
floor-- no one suspects a girl to be a piñata--
What a great way to die quietly 
and loud at the same time
Hang yourself by tissue paper. Wait for your birthday.
Invite your friends. Bob for apples. Take up sticks
together to tear holes in the seven-sides
of yourself as a star-shaped piñata-- confetti
tasseled and ready to bleed blow-pops and
tootsie rolls. They won't know it was you.
Too busy with the candy-- they've already
checked your wrists anyway. One of them will
see the headlines on the inside of the piñata-
carcass and wonder if Syria has piñatas
or strawberry jelly candies
or if they wanted to buy an accordion from
the "want ads". They'll look up and notice
the deer head-- still waiting to see the 
sound of gun shot. They'll wonder why
the candy tastes so much like milk and marbles
on a kitchen floor.