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With starfish in your hair, you sat atop a coral-reef rock;
girl, scowling because you were irritated with me.
I'd given you a piggy-back, then dropped you at the riverbank.
Girl, your eyes were hard as emeralds as you picked seaweed off
your favorite bikini; a pin-up darling, 1950s sexy, all over.
But Holland, I was fascinated, even as you avoided my gaze.

But that was last Friday when fireworks were
lighting up the wine-red sky, when
the bare-chested boys by the pier were
howling like banshees or wolves.
Saturday morning, I tried
to make it up to you with a box of
fresh blueberry muffins, a peppermint
latte from the nearest cafe.
But girl; you pushed the treats away,
pushed me away and slid
the door to our tent shut.
Oh Holland, it took me awhile
to make you smile at me again.

But I knew in my diamondback bones
that we were okay when
you wrapped your arms around my waist,
pressed your cheek against my shoulder.
Oh Holland, we could
never stay mad at each other for long..
At least, not back then;
back when nights were
perfect, our escape-plan, remnants of
the 80s, soft grunge tones and vanilla
ice cream with rainbow sprinkles
coaxing us out of our cave-like house.
You were sweeter than
butterscotch, girl; vintage candy,
sitting beside me in my faded Silverado,
humming the chorus to yet another
heartbreaking Goo Goo Dolls song.

All the choir teachers at school
criticized your voice, I remember.
They favored the girls with
Betty Page hairdos; mock-innocent sopranos,
calling out to all the jocks, wrestling champions,
“Oh give us those pearls, sailors!
Make us your pretty little Bedford housewives.”
Oh so pathetic..
I always knew you'd never stoop so low, beg
for guys to look at you with dollar-sign eyes,
grant your every wish but the one
you thought most special, Holland.

No, you were going places;
to college, to L.A to become an artist,
like you'd always wanted.
But the problem was me, wasn't it?
Holland, I was never happy
to let you out of my sight.

Overprotective to the core,
I fooled everyone but you, girl.
Things were never alright at home.
We kept the secret; kept each other
sane with warm side-hugs,
gentle pecks on rusted-peach
tear-stained cheekbones.
You were my safe haven..
Every afternoon at three,
I couldn't wait to see you, Holland.

And god, I wish I could
turn back time to breezy 1965 when
our relationship wasn't
so wrecked; damaged by nightmares,
by gunslingers, dead sparrows in the bird-bath,
by the dangerous world that is high school, girl.
No, in that separate place; a sparkling dimension,
you were still locking your arms around my neck,
waltzing with me to Elvis medleys
in front of our favorite malt-shop in town.
In those see-saw days, you were always
laughing; playing games, teaching our puppy
new tricks in the backyard, Holland,
your hair loose and draping down your spine.
All that fun, all that innocent hassle of
building a tree-house, working together.
Oh yeah, back then, we were like
knights of our own round-table.

But now it seems all I do is make you angry..
And I know I took what wasn't mine, a piece
of you that you were saving for someone else.
I got jealous, seeing you smile at him across
the picnic table the weekend we went camping.
Oh I lost my mind for a second,
lost whatever common sense I once had,
stored away in my astronaut-loving brain.
You reminded me who I was when we got home but then
I pressed my thirsting August lips against yours.
Oh I acted too quickly, stupidly because
it was all too fast; the heat coursing
through my veins, the taste of a summer morning
on our tongues, all blackberry leaves; sweet, tart poison.
I pulled back when you hesitated,
brushed strands of wheat-blond hair from your eyes.
“Wait,” you said. “This isn't right..
And I wished to God that time would stop, Holland;
that amber-hour set in stone, that
the universe would yield to my sick desire,
help change your stubborn mind.

Yeah, Holland; I'm guilty of
almost everything you accused me of
in the living room, in front of that
Halloween-style fireplace.
You called me twisted.
You called me insane.
You said, “Maybe we've gone too far,
thinking we're unbreakable.
Please let me go, then.
You're my best friend,
not my high school crush.”
It was that simple, Holland.
I never meant to hurt you but there were
real tears in your eyes and
you stepped back when I stepped forward.
Your left arm brushed against the flames.
Darling, I pulled you against me before
you could burn yourself more.

Girl; with small pearl palms against my chest,
you blinked up at me then.
I could see embarrassment
in your sea-glass eyes warring with
the irritation you still felt towards me.
And I swore at that moment;
to my evil twin, the scheming incubus inside,
that no matter how angry you got,
I'd still protect you, no matter what.

No matter who came along;
jumped over our fence, tried to be your only one,
I'd still leave my mark;
a phoenix tattoo upon your life
because that's all we have, this thing, this bond
between us that makes us unbeatable.

And I know you think you're broken, beyond repair;
too scarred to be considered beautiful.
Holland, you ask me every time we go sailing
in that old boat our dad tossed in the shed,
dubbed useless; you ask,
“Why don't you go out with all those other girls?”
And I follow your gaze across the shore.
“There are calla lilies there,”
you continue, pointing.
“There are roses and fresh tulips,
so why do you waste
your time, your sloppy Thursday
kisses and lullabies
on a fading dandelion like me?
Boy, I'm wispy; can't offer you much
in the way of wishes, scattered,
priceless in the August breeze.”

Oh girl, don't be so morbid..
But it's all so appropriate, isn't it;
the lace curtains splattered
with blood, a broken kitchen chair,
your heart on the floor of my bedroom?
It's the only thing I could save
from that night of whiskey and lavender
petals, remorse and understanding.
Oh let me keep it for as long as I can;
Holland, pumping summer air and sunlight,
natural vitamins, starfish blood into it.

I don't want any one of those party-sirens
with corn-silk hair, red lipstick,
that you pointed out to me.
They don't make me feel like you do, like
I'm needed in a super-hero kind of way.
Dad threw me out with the trash.
Mom ignored my screams.
But Holland, I know that
you'd never do such a thing;
make me feel less than human.

“Of course not!” you exclaim,
then shake your head.
“But we've gone too far..
We have to slow down,
turn back time to at least
blur out that last Wednesday.
But, Holland, I don't regret it.
You can do what you want;
I'm holding onto that moment,
that instant when you forgot
how close we actually were in the backyard
as we lay on the prickly grass,
watching fireworks; America's independence
splashed across the sky in shades
of maroon and dandelion blue.

I'm keeping that with me;
the memory of your eyes closing,
my hand ghosting over the flat
plains of your stomach, your cute bellybutton
and birdcage ribs, all the way
up to your shy sunflower breasts
tucked in a Ginger bikini, hidden
beneath a New York t-shirt.
You were startled, only half-asleep.
I swept my hands over your curves,
inhaled your girl-next-door flower-shop perfume,
but Holland; I stopped, pulled away
because I didn't want to be a curious pervert,
intruder of your most secret universe.

When you woke up, you asked me why I was
hunched over, blushing fiercely.
I could not reply, honestly.
“It's nothing,” I insisted.
I know you didn't believe me
but would you forgive me if
I told you the truth; that
I heard you sigh and thought you wanted more,
that I never wanted to stop?
Holland, would you have understood
if I'd said I could never be with anyone but
you; the real Ophelia rising,
summertime redemption?
You saw me spinning from the corner of your eye
You saw me spinnin' like it's 1965
You saw me spinnin' from the corner of your eye

And you touched my neck
You're a beauty baby child
I never had nobody touch me like I'm glass
You had me spinnin' in the midnight summer grass
I never had nobody touch me like I'm glass
With a moonburnt kiss

Can we go back to the world we had?
With a love so sweet it makes me sad
Can we go back to the world we had?
It's the world we've been dreaming of
Can we go back to the world we had?
Cut like diamonds, we were made to last
Can we go back to the world we had
It's the world we've been dreaming of

-"1965", Zella Day
I had a vision of his eyes; storm-cloud gray,
in the mosaic-sky above me as
I raced down a snow-covered highway.
He was lonely; that boy I knew once,
between heaven and hell, limbo,
a place where no angel can reach him.
In a time-warp in the clouds,
there are no mortals; messengers
to comfort my prince, give him back
the carnival-red heart that was
stolen, ripped out of his chest.
Adonis-flesh discarded, tossed
from a bridge, lost at sea; if I could
do it over again, I'd save that
last piece of him, a ruby, everlasting tattoo.

“Oh sweet Alexei,” his mother used to whisper.
“He has a smile like melted honey;
like the first spring morning after a snow-storm,
a decade under lace-ice, fairy bones.”
He was her Titanic-dream,
a miracle, still surviving.
The doctors thought he was too tiny
when he was born and
the nurses said he'd die in his crib.
Alexei; he proved them wrong,
kept on breathing, even when
everyone else had given up.
And that was a chain,
a dirty trend with his life.

He wasn't what his father expected,
wanted to parade around;
a little hunter on his shoulders.
No, he didn't care much
for the fur-trade, for watching
animals bleed on the forest-floor.
Every time Alexei wept, holding
another dead bird; another dead
rabbit in his hands,
his father cursed.
And though his father would
complain to his mother later,
“That boy is not a real man!”
Alexei's sweet mother would only
smile; pat him on the shoulder,
as if say reassuringly,
“You're good enough for me.”

And Alexei loved her for it
but he was no super-hero..
He still needed something;
a father's encouragement,
pride in his voice in the place of a lullaby.

But that never happened..
Alexei gave up after a couple of years trying
to be his dad's Michelangelo, set in stone.
Oh it's not unconditional love when
a man thinks his son wasn't born "right".
“Sweet Alexei,” I wanted to say.
“Dry those eyes; that man, your
father, isn't worth your time.
A thousand crystal-star tears,
he does not deserve them, no."
Oh I wanted to tell him so many things like:
“Boy, you're bigger than this situation,
this prejudice in the slums of Moscow.”
Oh sweet Alexei, everyone failed him;
even I did because I was thinking,
“Damn, he's adorable!
I want to be his first dance.
I want him to be my epic Prince Charming,
the last surviving Romanov.”
Oh I should've just given this boy hope;
what he deserved, not
expected anything in return.

And now where do we go;
the rest of us, left behind here
in this city of frozen doves?
A last sunset, where do I look
when he doesn't want to be found?

I wrote a letter to Alexei's father.
I know he'd be angry, if he knew..
He'd probably tear it up by
the light of a bloody Christmas candle.
But I don't care because he's not here and
isn't that the point of everything?
I lost the boy I loved so let me have these
last five seconds of revenge.
Oh angel of death, let me have the chance
to stand up to the world that
tried its damnedest to keep us apart, make us suffer.
Alexei; please let me have a say
in how he will be remembered
because it isn't fair and I left him there,
outside that bar after our argument.
I didn't turn around, didn't go back
to check if he was still alive.
It didn't even cross my mind that
someone might have been following us.

Sweet Alexei, let me make it up to him..
Only then can I feel
the weight lifting from my shoulders;
the brick from my heart, crumbling,
fading into stardust.
Angel of death, let me be redeemed.
Then Alexei can be free,
float above the steeples that were
always trying to pierce him, shout,
“Fool, you didn't win!”

But please, let me write this:

Dear sir,

You wanted me to cry, lizard-king, but I won't.
You wanted me to beg for mercy,
an easy death on the sidewalk in
front of those cruel thugs but I refused.
You're not my savior, Rasputin.
You're nothing but a charlatan in badly-fitted clothes.
Potato-sack monarchy,
what are you trying to prove?
I think I know; you're trying to rewrite history,
make sure that people like us are
wiped off the face of the earth in
one smooth, careless motion.
See, you're a narcissist; you think the world
revolves around you and that
everyone should bow down
before your masked throne,
their knees white, bleeding salt and pearls.

Lizard-king, I wish I could take you down myself.
I don't want to put anyone else in danger;
risk losing another friend, another lover
to your cause-less battle against happiness.
Maybe you think I'm delusional; crazy,
threatening you like this.
Well, you threw your son away for
something that doesn't even exist.
Now you want mercy?
What about sweet Alexei?
What about the boy with
the most genuine smile;
the kindest, bravest green eyes?
What about him, lizard-king?
I'll tell you what; bring him back to life,
build a deity and then
we'll talk about forgiveness, alright?
Till then, I've still got
some fight left in me.


Your son's first kiss, your son's best friend,
the part of humanity you could never kill.”

Sweet Alexei; his absence drives me wild
and this silence is deafening,
winter without his violin.
But I should just leave Arizona flowers
on his gravestone and move on..
I wrote this to show support for all LGBT people in Russia. Stay strong :)
Underwater Virgo, you're so slick;
peach-tree skin, Georgia native, southern belle;
how did you end up in this hell-hole,
a desert-flower in a tidal storm?
Oh raven-haired Dahlia, you're the type of girl
every mother wants to parade around;
beauty pageant starlet, winning every crown.
But nobody knows who you really are..
Girl, you're no trailer-trash blond;
you're no lost preacher's daughter,
an accident waiting to happen,
teen pregnancy in a rented car.

No, I knew from the start; that very first day
you marched through our tiny campus,
you had a look on your face; so determined like
you wouldn't let anyone intimidate you,
no matter how pierced, tattooed, how
rich and world-class chic they were.
Oh you had us all pegged for losers.
You thought you wouldn't be able
to fit in by your own merits; smart,
A-list student, but I was the only one who
saw through your Snow-white
looking-glass design, rose-skull mask of
perfect poker-face smiles.

If you were scared, you never showed it.
You breezed right past us, made the swim team
and the jocks were all so speechless.
Tough wannabes; both guys and
girls, we all wanted to know you..
But not at a pool party; no,
not with plastic cups, offering
stale liquor, a way to end
your innocence with a punch,
a mistake in a darkened cellar.
No, girl; I wanted to get to know you
somewhere else, somewhere new and
not tainted with drowsy laughter,
the smell of marijuana in the air,
drunken curses, cigarette smoke.

Girl, I was thinking, we could
find that cliff overlooking the river.
I was thinking; we could sit on a rickety swing,
built by kids ten years ago, all 80s apple-wood.
We could trade stories about our past
adventures, our dreams for the future.
I wanted to get you alone; yeah, I won't lie..
I wanted to impress you with a sighting
of fireflies in the forest
between Selma Cove and Darlene Street.
I wanted to show you that life here isn't
so bad, boring; if you get creative, draw
magic out of all those flickering,
shy-green lights, paint them in your sketch-pad,
dance as they circle your shadow
when nobody's watching.
Yeah, I wanted you to like it here; at least
give me a shot; a small-town kid, hypnotized
by a girl with sun-stone eyes.

Oh Olympic raven, you think you know everything
about the woods; the hunting-fields where
your daddy used to take you with a rifle, a bow and arrow.
Songbird, you think you've seen all of
the wilderness by now; all of this
wendigo-horror, siren-night filled
with waves crashing, thunderstorms.
Beach bonfires are ruined by the shrill screams of teenage
girls and werewolf superstitions are
passed around like sickeningly sweet desserts.
Still, your daring brown eyes haven't
seen what happens when you let your guard down.

Girl, your September flesh still hasn't felt
the complete brush of a phoenix feather; red
flame, Indian Paintbrush, because
you love it when I pull you under this pier.
Pirate-silver rain cascades all around us..
Eyes heat up; Aztec chocolate,
when I kiss your neck, sucking
on the skin, creating a flower-scar, honey.
You love it when lightning flashes overhead,
drops of Jupiter rolling down our spines,
girl, making our shoulder-blades glisten
with sweet betrayal; deceiving our parents,
going out, all reckless, all alone.
Music sings in our bones; a classic
guitar melody, so tempting because,
your lips never knew real thrill;
salted caramel, carnival rides, till
they kissed my thirsty autumn mouth.

“Oh you're so cocky for a newcomer,”
someone once told me when I first
moved here; this cursed-moon town.
Mountains everywhere, evergreen legends,
relics; people here are so simple-minded,
girl, they think they can tell what kind of character
you possess with just one quick glance.
But they don't know; they don't see the real me,
the real you; all twisted glass, beautifully
painted, crown-cathedral mistakes.

Girl, you can have all of me..
You can tear through my dreams,
sneak in through my window and
hide in my Crayola airplane bedroom.
You can make me feel like a hero
because I caught you, pulled you up
before you bruised your knee on
the brick wall of my 1940s house.
Yeah, I did; I saved you from
falling, cracking that pretty
skull on the concrete below.
All that slippery moss;
you weren't thinking, were you?

But you make me feel free like
I'm not a villain; just because
I want time to stop, freeze this moment so that
you'll never leave me, giving up on a broken toy.
“Don't say that! Don't ever say that!”
This analogy makes you angry and
I'm sorry but can you blame me?
I've been treated this way my whole life..
“I'm not like the others,” you say,
as if I need more clarification.
But then, maybe I do..
You're so beautiful
but in a tragic star-flower way
like a pirate-ship, sunken treasure.
To me, you are forbidden just
because you're purer than I and
I know this sounds ridiculous
but maybe we were never meant
to cross paths at school or
at any party, camping-ground.
Sweetheart, maybe we were only meant
to stare at each other from a safe distance
like lighthouses on opposite shorelines.
Maybe we disrupted something stronger
than we could have imagined possible.
Mother Nature got ticked, her plans ignored
by our impatient prom-red hearts.

And now we have to deal with the storm
because not all days are sunflower bright,
an inescapable paradise.
No, sweetheart; it's all coming down
like cold, hard rain over me, bucketfuls
of fall-meets-spring confusion and
Halloween-style lust.
You can have any one of those alter-boys;
following you around,
wanting to be your Prince Charming
in stone-washed denim.
Why did you choose me?
I stick to the shadows.
I fight when I need to,
get out of the way of evil
when it's not my secret,
my skeleton to keep hidden
in the already jammed closet of my teen-wreck life.
How did you notice me almost drowning?
Maybe you're the only one
who can have me on my knees, crumbling.
But then you're also the one who keeps me anchored,
keeps me from drifting off
into a sea of uncontrollable emotions;
rage, past mistakes, trusting the wrong person.

But with you, it's different;
with you, I don't feel the need
to find ways to escape this
confusing maze of a universe.
Girl, if this doesn't make sense,
let me put it this way;
you give me a reason to stay because
for once, I know I'm not
the only eclectic soul screaming
to be heard over the weird shouts
of teen-spirit; so hypocritical,
so out of touch with brass-toned reality.
Oh yeah, I don't want to fit in,
be one of the “cool kids”, smoking marijuana,
throwing caution to the wind just
to prove they're more liberal than
their church-going relatives.
But the truth is; I was left out,
trying to blend in with that
crowd, sweetheart, because all
they know about Oscar Wilde is
that he was thrown in prison for
loving another man, for writing
a letter scented with butterfly wings;
crushed, bleeding black ink.

But I want to be bigger than
this situation; to be or not to be,
open-minded or narrow as a Parisian street.
I want to impress you somehow,
girl; prove that I'm not like
the other jocks, brain-dead
athletes at our segregated school.
Can you believe me?
Do I have to show you up, once more?
You already beat me at a swim-meet.
I don't care; I was just there
to be close to you, breathe the same air,
tainted with chlorine misinterpretations,
first-class judgment and the lingering
scent of your shampoo, dripping braids,
daisies at the bottom of the pool.

And afterward; god, wasn't it amazing, girl?
The locker room door creaking open; but
you weren't scared, just kept on kissing me
slowly, pleading with morning-dove irises.
Oh you could have me reeling between
wanting to crush your poinsettia heart
in my palms and pushing you flush
against a wall, feel everything come undone
as you blushed fiercely, my tongue licking
a path from your earlobe to your shoulder.

Oh yeah, red-hour sin; I don't want to be
the one left behind, thinking,
“Why couldn't I have just taken her
when I had the chance, made her see that
together, we're stronger; not a force to
be reckoned with, lace and thunder?”
No, I don't want to miss my chance
to have you in my arms; white skin
hot against my U.S Navy shirt,
a medal-less chest, but I don't care..
Girl, for you, I'll be an unlikely hero.
And Virgo; stormy eyes, gray-green summer,
if you take me under, desert-flower lips,
all that graceful lightning, one more
time for the outcast-lie; I'll be your
sinking ship, stolen treasure, sweetheart.
Half-moon, a sinister smile between the trees;
Aspen, birch, all the branches from
our childhood play-house now lie scattered
on the Oregon forest floor.
What is there to save, collect like
acorns for baby squirrels?
Boy, what's left of you and me?

The last time we met at that secret place;
the one between moss hangings and owl nests,
you told me why you were being such a jerk,
because you were scared
I'd leave you all alone.
And you had to remind me again about
the promise we made
when we were twelve,
to never let anything tear us apart.

Oh but we're not tiny rulers of
a fisherman kingdom anymore.
Boy, your golden paper-crown is now
discarded on seaweed-rocks;
trampled on, pecked by gulls, crows,
by the lowest of airplane birds.
And what about me; ghost-sunshine,
am I the same Gibson-doll you swore to
protect all those crimson years ago?
What if I'm not, flower-rainstorm?
What if you've lost track of how many
fights, arguments and beer-bottles
our father hurled at our bedroom door?
Boy, you're not a robot; not super-human,
no matter how hard you try to be.
Let yourself be free; let yourself
have fun for once, smile, without remorse.
For me; let yourself be real,
wide awake, a resurrected angel.

But you never want to listen
when you're so high on bourbon dreams.
Pills scattered on the carpet;
you say they're not yours,
you say you're not a ghost
like our dear mother,
Sleeping Beauty in an unmarked grave.
Oh boy, never scare me like that again..

Firecracker-sin, Fourth of July parties
out by the beach; you and I are not like the other kids,
but still, we laugh and drink, just the same.
A girl weaves saltwater-daisies in my hair
and I catch you staring across
the witch-hazel bonfire flame.
I know you're remembering, boy,
when you did the very same thing;
braiding bluebonnets in my faded
sunset strands when you were eight.
“Lydia, you're so pretty,” you said back then.
And it's funny how I remember,
those words made me smile, made me feel
like I was worth something more
than child-support fees in the mail-box.

Our mother was always drunk; always
high off cigarettes, sleeping pills and
regret from 1999 nightmares.
I couldn't count on her to pack my lunch
or tie a ribbon around my waist,
matching colors with my Sunday dress.
No, boy, you were the only one who cared..

And maybe that's why the lines
got blurred between us, that's why
you thought of me as your unlucky Juliet.
But warm fingers on my neck;
when I was tired, you let me
lay my head on your shoulder
as we drove home after another
tiring party, pretending to be normal.
The glinting mysterious Pacific coast
swept by in a haze of charcoal
and blue heron remains.
I only felt safe when we were close,
whether it was right or wrong;
the low hum of a lullaby
in the back of your throat,
boy, the absolutely addictive way
your familiar sand-stone skin
kept me anchored to the earth.

Sometimes it wasn't so bad because
I would reason with the part of me
that was born scared, eternally numb.
I'd tell her; that accidental
little girl inside, “Just one more
year, sweetheart. Then we'll be gone..”

Oh and it was an awesome thing
to think about; how you and I,
would soon be on the open road,
heading out of this moss-covered town,
how we'd rent an apartment somewhere artsy,
maybe a studio-flat in sunny San Francisco.
“Just one more year, darling,”
I remember you whispered one morning; 2 A.M,
as we raced home in the violet-dark.

“Don't give yourself away!” you said then,
your eyes horrified at the thought of me
with another boy, even your best friend.
Oh absinthe prince, you wouldn't have stood for that.
It isn't fair and I told you so but
you refused to listen, wrapped your hands around
my forearms, said, “I'm the only one who knows how to hold you.
Newport-star, tonight is the only chance we get to be together.”
Oh boy, but that wasn't right..

I was your poison; you said
I was the reason you never left.
And all my guilt was swallowed up by
your kiss; cold peppermint, strange.
Concrete jaw-line, lashes on cheekbones;
you think maybe this lust
wanes, the more we do it?
It doesn't, castle-darling..
Hands sweeping beneath t-shirts,
that hot serpent-tongue,
running down the length
of my white throat and the shape of
my small autumn breasts;
eyes rolling back, the purple ceiling
above our heads, a cracked
constellation; boy, I'm still
addicted to you, even now.

But hours later; after
you made your promise to keep me safe,
I had another nightmare.
You were carrying my bruised and
belt-rimmed body through the eerie halls of
our house, your cheeks streaked with tears.
I was wearing that salmon-pink Easter
Sunday dress from twelve years ago,
now ripped, the sash completely gone.
Through the woods you carried me
like a mannequin in a doctor-soap,
like something still worth saving.
Boy, but at the river, your arms were
sagging; suddenly, your strength was
draining quickly from the ropes of
red-blue American revolutionary muscles
running down your fighter-limbs.
“It's only a matter of time before
he gives in," I thought. "Before
he gives up my body to the ocean, lets me drown.”
And sure enough, you didn't mean
to kill me with your desires.
You didn't mean to leave me alone
when you had to work all day
to earn a bus ticket to Detroit.
But here we are now; my eyes
sliding shut, my skin permanently
marked by the secrets of a damaged household.
And boy, it still isn't your fault.
But maybe; just maybe, firefly,
you shouldn't have kissed me like that..

And it was a dream that had me
gasping for breath; sitting up,
my heart drumming painfully in my chest.
And it woke you up, as well.
“What's wrong?” you asked.
“Your cornflower-blue eyes bleary.
But I just shook my head.
“Nothing.. Go back to sleep, sweet prince.”
And maybe in another life;
we're not so fucked-up, unlucky as hell.
Maybe in another life; we're not so
close, forbidden to be even more.
But for now, you got to let me go..
Promise Me, Lydia
"I was a heavy heart to carry
My beloved was weighed down
My arms around his neck
My fingers laced to crown.

I was a heavy heart to carry
My feet dragged across ground
And he took me to the river
Where he slowly let me drown"

- Heavy in your Arms, Florence and the Machine
Turn this night upside down..
I want everything that usually doesn't
fit into this world, make sense.
I want it all; champagne supernovas,
Saturn rings, pearl-strings,
crashing over our heads, spilling
secrets like bucketfuls of Atlantic rain.
Darling, you look so hot; all wet
and bothered, bare-chested,
a merman combing his hands through
his damp medium-brown hair.

Oh give me the time of day when you want to meet
just before dark, sunset between Portland and Seattle.
I'll be waiting up late; how can anyone sleep, anyway?
When there's a pounding in my head; an empty feeling,
a gaping hole in the center of my mandolin rib-cage,
how can I drift off?
And jasmine-mistake,
how can you make me think you're nowhere near
as effected as I am
in the same sinking ship, friend?
I know for a fact;
you wouldn't have stuck around so long,
if you didn't truly give a damn.
Oh I know you, friend;
you're not a push-over, a coward like that.
It's one of the horrible things
I love about you.

“Take it back!”
But I won't; not this time, not
here, with your body so close..
You asked me once to let it go;
put this to rest, a misunderstood friendship.
But it's not enough to see you once a year.
It's not enough
to only reach you; speak to you through
paper, a computer screen.
Winter-eyes; summer-mouth,
don't you feel the same way about me?

Now can you sense the night rolling off your back,
every cold spot where Victorian ghosts
press their fingers against your skin?
“You're crazy” you tell me between sips of
brandy that I know is burning your throat.
And I nod, stubbornly.
“Maybe but you're still lonely.”
Boy, you hate it when I'm right..
Your eyes flash for a second; a dull blue
fire, then it fades back
to hazel, so calm, so infuriating.

“Go away,” you've said a number of times when
you were drunk, when I wouldn't let you drive home.
The roads so crooked, coyotes howling in the distance;
I could only think of your mother, worrying at home.
But you do care about her and that's why you let me
guide you back through the pines, safely.
“Because you're my best friend,”
you tell me later when you've had your nap  
in the back of my truck, your dose of
peppermint tea for your swirling stomach.
“I trust you,” you mumble,
closing those surreal gray eyes, shutting me out again.
And I believe you, I do, but here's the thing; you only
think of me kissing you in a wet dream, a dirty magazine.
You don't think there's any real possibility of us being
together in a not-so-subtle,
American blue-blood romance.

Oh what's wrong with me?
I see you walking away
with one closet-case after another,
all through high school and college.
Boy, but why can't it ever be me;
the one person who you'll never
have to hide, sneak around with?
If I'm your dose of heavenly trouble;
make it count, my last chance November.
It doesn't have to be serious, strict
like a Baptist household; marriage
arranged under the breakfast table,
a toy soldier lock-and-key.
Boy, you can be free; blasting
desert ballads on the radio,
over the roar of the highway,
singing at the top of your lungs.
You can be my rebel songbird; tragic
nightingale at dusk, just don't
give up on my old-fashioned heart.

And believe me; so many times
I should've been the one, walking off
into the sunset, riding a dusty motorcycle
out of this hell-hole because there were
so many moments when the painful bullet-truth
hit me; the fact, Cold War realization that
you would never want me as your midnight flower-bomb,
your comic-book romantic partner-in-crime.
“Oh yes; you fool, you should have left sooner,”
my smarter self tells my weaker half.
Philadelphia martyr, I could never abandon you, though.
I should've just swallowed my pride, my blue-eyed ego.
Support in a fight, loyalty till death do us part;
that was all you needed and thirsted for,
your throat parched from family-friend rejection, betrayal.
You never asked for something last-minute, a one-night stand,
a change in your orientation;
goddamned sexuality, because
you knew all along, that was impossible.

Such a simple thing and I knew;
I wasn't that stupid, just stubborn.
But Goldenrod, you wanted to spare me
the disappointment of a stormy mind;
a temperamental heart, never lead me on..
Oh what more can I say but that
you were right, I was eternally wrong?

“Tripping on angel-dust”;
that's what my sister said when I told her about
your eyes, your smile, the overall power you had
over me the first time I came home after school
with your name on my tongue.
My sister; she warned me,  even then,
“Boy, don't waste you time chasing
after that pretty pipe dream.
You'll just end up stuck in
a mockingbird tree, a kite with no string.”

Oh she was wise, she was patient.
Oh I wanted to scream,
“Go away, Philadelphia martyr!”
when you rejected me.
It was 11 o'clock; we were standing
outside the school gym
after that terrible spring formal,
all dancing gone from our limbs,
our bones hanging limp from long blazer sleeves.
I told you I loved you,
not like a brother, a best friend.
And you shook your head,  
gazing up at the silver rain-filled sky
with an expression; so exasperated, that
said, “What am I going to do with you, friend?”
And I remember how angry I was, how much
I wanted to punch a hole in the concrete
wall surrounding us but boy, I didn't..
I just said, “Why? Why can't it be me?
How is it fair that everyone gets to experience
life; move on, while I'm stuck in this
time-warp, a rabbit-hole failed dream?”
And in your eyes there was sadness,
as well as disappointment, as if
you actually expected more from me.
“First of all,” you said.
“Stop being such a drama queen!
It's stereotypical and you're way too cool for that.
Secondly, you need someone who won't
be a sworn-heartache, a November promise.
Friend, you deserve a certainty and that's not me..
We both know it; I wasn't born to be your prince.”

Oh yeah, you said it loud and clear
but I really needed to hear it again;
“Boy, I'm not your last chance, your transitory sun.”
And all those memories of a time when I was lost
in a daydream; imagining your warm shirt pressed
against my body, the brush of your lashes against
my cheek, fingers on my jaw-line,
hot mercury-toned lips making me sink deeper
in a pool of acid fantasies;
straight-up damaged lust,
passion of the strongest, darkest kind..
Boy, luckless diamond;
all these things I took for granted
once upon a time, are now locked
away, safely in the closet
of my imagination.

Boy, I still think of you as
my guardian angel with fearless goldenrod eyes
but tonight, I'm putting your specter;
that trickster-clone, a fake Prince
Charming, to rest in peace.


United States
Current Residence: Texas
Favourite genre of music: rock


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