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“Sweet citrus”; that's what they called you,
your parents when you were born,
smiling up at them from a makeshift crib;
a cloth-and-lavender stems type of
bed pushed to the far wall of their room
under a witch-cut circle window.
Girl, you came into this world; an autumn-eyed
child with a perfect bow-mouth and
as you grew older, your blue-black hair draped down your spine,
almost reaching your waist-line.
But the neighbors; your father's friends, were never satisfied.
They told him, “She's pretty enough, sure..
But she's still just a worthless female, sir.”
Then they'd pat his arm as if to say,
“We're sorry for your loss”,  even though;
your dad was never disappointed, at all.

That's right; he'd carry you on his shoulders
through town on each festival day.
He'd buy your sweet iced Taro, even though
the sugar would make your milk-teeth hurt
and your mother would scold him afterward.
“Don't spoil her!” Ma would say.
“Or else, she'll grow up thinking she's a princess;
raised in a jade palace with golden
chrysanthemums and ladies-in-waiting,
feeding her cherries, braiding her hair.
If you dote on her too much, she'll be disappointed
when the fairy tale ends; when she wakes up
from this snow-castle dream and finds out we don't
really live like monarchs but peasants, instead.”
Oh your mother meant well, girl,
but your father never listened to her.
Shaking his head, he merely asked,
“Why shouldn't she believe in angels out there;
because to me, she's a gem..”

Oh and it was with this same free-spirit
mentality that your dear Ba introduced us
one Monday morning in the schoolyard.
“This is my daughter,” he said when
he spotted me skipping rope under a tall Taiwania tree.
“Please play with her; she's too shy to ask out loud.”
And sure enough; when I glanced over,
your cheeks flushed red.
But as soon as your dad left, girl;
you showed me that we had underestimated you.
We dubbed meek too soon because
you jumped rope better than I did.
Oh sweet Cam, your movements were swifter;
your limbs reached higher, legs longer
than mine, arms more slender, hands
almost touching the leaves that threatened
to fall from all those skinny branches.

I might have been jealous in the back of my mind;
wanting to be just as cool but
at the moment, I was in awe.
Oh you laughed when the bell rang
but not in a mean way.
You said, “All that jumping has
made me thirsty, how about you?”
Then we raced to the water fountain
before the teacher could tell us to get in line
with the other children.

And years later, we're still that way;
sharing one bike, riding through the rain.
My hands around your tiny waist,
pearls of spring in my hair; evidence of
thunderstorms reflected prettily
in your long braids and we're still
the odd couple nobody suspects is
shaking up their once-predictable worlds
of temple gatherings; conservative
clothes and lists of orderly birthdays.
Oh yes, sweet Cam; we're shaking up
their society with our own brand of
heroine diaries; music from the addictive
metropolis that is Tokyo, fame from Hanoi.
Yes, we're teenagers; we dance around in our bedrooms,
listening to secret tracks on the radio,
hoarding pirate-films from the west.
We're teenagers still; we think we're smart
but the truth is, we don't quite know what love is yet..
No, we don't know what to do with
these promise-rings we slipped on each others' fingers
when we were eight, now that we've outgrown
their faux-sparkle; now that the bands have tightened
around our skin, stretching the veins that
once made us innocent, made us worth
the trouble of dowries, candy-money.

Oh but you'll always be special to me..
Even if our strange but fun encounters
don't last forever; even if someday
I'll have to move away, try my luck in the city and
eventually put away all those high school year-books,
you'll still be a sweet orange blossom memory.
And I guess you'll always be the one that got away..

So swift, so strange and electric like power-line
flash-storms; March-April-May madness,
silk dresses all wet and wrinkled, everything about
this moment is dream-spun, yet real.
And nobody can tell me you're not mine to hold when
it feels so right, as close
to perfect as I'll ever get.

With your cheek pressed in the crook of my neck and
shoulder, your eyes closed; lashes brushing my skin,
sweet  Cam, I promise this moment is better
than any fairy tale I'll ever read, will ever need.

So melt my February lies; if you wish, society-in-pink.
You with all those paper-hearts and sugar-drop notions
of what makes a happy Christian or Confucian marriage
last; I never needed your strict orders,
your home-spun tea offering, to feel human.
All I needed; oh high-priests, was the safety and
closeness that this Lao Cai girl gave me,
without asking for anything in return.
And you can swallow that truth like
snakebite poison, if you want..

I remember so clearly; the day my secret slipped
out of my locker in school, how
I was taunted afterward for keeping a love-letter;
written, signed by another girl.
The bullies; they called me crazy,
they called me a tramp, white-trash with a giant
L stamped on my forehead.
“Lesbian”; but why is that a bad thing, I wondered..

And humiliation of that sort; second-grade harassment,
dug its yellow claws deep into my bones;
the mechanical workings of my heart back then,
but now, I say, “To hell with normalcy;
conformity in a black-and-white telly.
No, I'm not ashamed anymore.
I'll never apologize for wanting
to be treasured by another girl.”

Oh sweet Cam Ly, your kiss; thrilling and strange,
raw like the inside of jack-fruit,
coral like a seashell that refuses to be washed
away, hidden in the sand;
your summer-fresh kiss broke down my barriers.
And even if this relationship
we've managed to keep intact
through the darkest of years;
nights praying to some deity to make us “straight”
before bedtime, even if it doesn't last forever,
I have to thank you because in your own quiet;
lark-lady way, you set me free.
Shattered moonshine; sometimes I want to leave
because I just don't know how to feel real again.
Sometimes, all I see when I look in the mirror is a pair
of round teddy-bear brown eyes that no longer gleam innocent.
And most of all; I see anger streaked across my cheekbones,
jaw-line, like cursed Mississippi rivers.

Yeah, who knew I was plucked from my hometown by a slew of
chatter-box angels, all babbling about the Big Easy;
all the fun things I could do there, all the beauty
I could see like handsome fellas; pieces of sweet,
ripe persimmon temptation, Mardi Gras flower-bombs..
Yeah, who knew I'd be on a bus in no time; riding through
cotton-fields, past old gas stations,
leaving my old sheltered life behind?

But I did, boy; I ran away, barely eighteen and
I found you on a street corner in New Orleans.
Yeah, it was a magical city..
It was crazy, wild and free.
Back then, at least; I thought I had found
the outcast's version of a Promise-land.
Oh it was true; I wasn't so naïve,
had already experienced pain.
In my own hard-knock way, I was a survivor.
But people didn't see that,
unfortunately, when they first met me.
All they saw were my southern-born features;
my apple pie-stained lips and assumed I was
as clean as a snow-rabbit's fur.

Oh but darling; surprisingly, I wasn't..
I've seen hate in my mother's face..
That's right, you think a woman can't be cruel?
Babe, you should take a walk down my Memory Lane.
You should see the scars on my body at star-fall.
You should see the marks of shame.
She disowned me because I told her I never wanted
to stay home, marry a prom queen.
She cursed me, saying heaven would
never take someone so damaged and
believe it or not; not even the most damned
and forbidden of swear-words were as painful
to hear because a little piece of me
died the night she slapped my cheek.
The night she put me out of the house with the cats,
I can tell you this; my trust in that woman, belief
that a parent's love is unconditional, faded away.

I was lost but too angry to admit it..
Friend, I charged into town; a war-horse
wanting to trample over everything,
wanting to strike fear in the hearts of
frail romantics, star-crossed musicians.
Boy, I wanted to make people hurt because
I was only too familiar with that feeling.
“So inevitable, unchanging; it never goes away..”
That's what I thought when you came to me.
But you changed that, I'm happy and terrified to say.

It's such a strange feeling; a weird thing,
to be anchored down when
you're so used to floating away.
Yeah, robin-eyed boy; I was a balloon,
ashen gray with no string.
Then you came along; just a chance encounter,
a walk in the park, and pulled me down.
But at first, I was wary of
your charismatic grin, even though
I couldn't wait to experience
my first reciprocated crush on a boy.
Oh I couldn't wait to go out dancing
with the same electric, magnetic sex;
know what it's like to rest my head on his chest,
feel his strong hands gripping my hip-bones
as jazz swirled in the background, filled
the atmosphere with Top Ten freedom lullabies.

“Oh you're such a chicken, plucked from your mama's nest”;
that's how you teased me, friend; saying sweet, annoying
things like: “You're so creme-fresh, a Milky Way starling."
And you know I was just kidding when I pushed you up
against a wall, said in a mock-warning tone,
“Say that again, boy..”

And “What?” you asked me,
that stupid smile on your face.
“What are you going to do about it,
my bad-ass angel wings?
Hate to break it to you; but you're still
so True-Blue, starry-eyed
but reckless when you dream.”
And it was amazing how you knew me so well
after such a short time,
hanging out in back-door speakeasies;
rooftop gardens and cafes,
reading escapist novels and
discussing them like dorks all day.
But it was my little piece of Utopia, boy;
being there with you, when all I knew was
neglect and school-house hopes.

“Give me more time..”
I wanted to tell the angels when they came,
took your body away.
I tried to save you, give you a street-wise
antidote; a taste from my wrist, in vain.
But it didn't work because
I was a couple seconds too late.
And now what do I have in this city
but a luckless memory; a few
empty bottles of satin-red bourbon,
stale moonshine, broken records and
tear-stained journals?
Tell me, midnight-walker;
what do I have, now that you're gone?

Nothing, that's what.. “Don't say that!”
Maybe in another life, you'd scold me.
But in this Jabberwocky-run checkered world,
what does it matter, boy?
I'm lost again but this time, it's worse
because I've seen paradise.
And all I can remember now is how
when we first met, I doubted
the wildflowers in your rib-cage,
thought they were overgrown.
But you taught me how to trust, my cosmic-faith,
made me feel alive again.
So how fucked-up is it
that now I'm all alone?

The past is harsh; the present cruel, friend,
and the future is dark..
You were my sun so if there's a way to run,
keep going until I fade into a meaningless scenery;
I would because, hell, it's worth a shot.
But “You were meant for better things”
you told me once and somehow, I don't
want to let you down; completely, at least.
I couldn't be there to catch you so if
I can help someone else; someone like you stranded
out there, would you forgive me if I tried?
This is for all the sleepless boys who just want to be loved.
This is in memory of your silver stare;
your beautiful, heartbreaking lie..

Blood and moonshine;
you brought me out of my shell,
boy, threw me into a thrilling
hurricane of emotion; freedom, music,
ice-glazed skin, sepia-on-white.
And now I can honestly say I'm done hiding,
can finally leave my sheltered self behind
on a little crooked bridge over
that haunted mossy swamp.
Boy, after losing you,
I'm not afraid of anything human.

This night-core city can't hold me down,
can't terrify me with its wild gaze,
wicked lights; loud, out-of-this-world noise,
because maybe I'm one of
the fallen ones, as well.
Maybe as dark as I am, I'm still pure to some
angel above or demon down below.
And I know you wouldn't like this analogy,
You once told me, “You're not broken
just because a few people didn't know how
to love the devastatingly
unique fire in your eyes.
And you shouldn't have to hide that glow,
that mesmerizing shine.”

Oh it's funny, boy, how you believed in me that much.
It's puzzling; your admiration of my talent
for jumping over picket fences,
but now what do I have left of 1989?
Boy, even though I don't understand it;
I'd take your bold, affectionate smile any day..

I sprinkle sage all over your grave;
whisper your name, just in case
there are any ghosts who need some encouragement.
They can rest easily now,
knowing you're in a better place,
friend; knowing love is love,
no matter who you are,
no matter where you've been.
Forgot-me-not sleeves; sunset nail polish, cracked and
peeling, Virgo fingertips, she laid down next to me on
the prickly grass that my brother never liked mowing.
People didn't care when we played with dolls, when
we made pretend-treats in our Easy Bake ovens and
braided daisies; violets in each others' long, unruly hair.
But when we held hands and felt the rain on our faces;
when we dressed up as brides, said “I do” in the basement,
gave each other mood-rings; a candy-machine engagement,
our parents would suddenly tell us,
“This is wrong; you can't do that.”

Oh nobody cared when I entered kindergarten,
wearing poodle-skirts; but then at twelve years old,
I was suddenly an oddity among the other girls.
Yeah, they were piling lip-gloss on their satin-coated
mouths, reciting the names of boys on plastic phones
and I wasn't one of them; no, I wasn't a mother's joy.
Who would want a daughter who ran wild in the fields;
who talked to imaginary friends, took pictures of birds?
Who would want a daughter who hated parties, stayed
in her room for most of the summer, reading novels?
And who would want a daughter
who'd rather write poetry than shop for clothes?

Yes, I was an oddity and for most of my life,
I felt like a ghost; on the outside, looking in.
But now what does it matter, honey?
It's funny how those silly scriptures
can't hurt you if you don't believe..
And I sure as hell don't; I don't think
a woman's place is in the kitchen, alone.
Maybe if we were to find a time capsule
on the beach somewhere and travel back
to a time so bland, it makes us dizzy; a faded
wonderland, then it might be impossible
to imagine ever being happy in a white dress.
But honey, I'm so glad I was catapulted away
from that century; hoop-skirt ideology,
so that I could meet you in this lifetime.

Yeah, I'm so glad we're here in this South Hampton
haven, sipping iced tea by a diamond-back coast.
Nobody can tell me what to feel when you're reaching
for my hand across this round French table, when
you're telling me you've wanted to kiss me ever since
the day we got locked out in the rain.
Your grandma opened the back door to her tiny book-shop,
called us “crazy girls” for wandering around town all wet.
“You'll catch pneumonia,” she warned us. “You'll die young.”
But we just laughed because we were so
carefree back then, and sometimes I miss that.
Truly, I do miss our innocence, girl.

But we can't retrace our steps back down that
bright memory-lane, no matter how much we long
now for cherry blossom poison.
And to tell you the truth; even though the past
is something I was once ashamed of,
pushed to the far back of my mind,
that time I kissed a girl in my bedroom;
even though I can't change it, I don't think
I mind this ocean-blue century we live in.

And to the emotions that raged in my chest
while I was there, in picket-fence Indiana; now
I understand why they were so hot and bothered,
not wanting to be repressed,
fighting against the chains I'd wrapped
invisibly around my raw February heart.
Yes, now I know; if I were a boy, it'd be easier
to approach the girl of my dreams, ask her out
on a “real” date; complete with raindrops
in our braids, ice cream on our lips,
meaningless laughter bubbling in our throats.
If I were a boy, this desire would
be better-understood by our society.
But no one can tell me how to feel.

Yeah, can you hear me; my stern-faced ancestors,
relatives stuck in dreary family portraits?
Can you hear my cries; no longer wet with mourning
for my adolescence, a time you stole from me
in a useless attempt to make me “normal”?
No one can change me; not by force,
not by greed or even shame, darling.
I'm done feeling guilty.

So I like girls; especially
the one standing next to me,
300 miles away from Indiana; my once
sheltered, totally-wrong upbringing.
It's her hand I'm holding,
not a man's and that's okay..
You can rot in your bigotry, ghost-history;
like a summer-storm peony
but my midnight-glass identity will never
break, never wilt in secret.
midnight glass
this is a more personal piece, some of it based on my coming out history.

Mature Content

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Bourbon-spotted handkerchiefs decorate
your vanity-table in the dressing-room
as you get ready for a spring-born recital;
dabbing too much rouge on your already-pink cheeks,
lipstick on your autumn-painted lips.
Girl, you're upset, though you barely show it.
You're heartbroken over the empty seat
next to yours, the unanswered phone call.
Beverley, I'm sick of standing in the shadows;
behind the curtain, don't you see?
Beverley, you'll always be someone to me,
even if you don't see that and it's so frustrating..
Oh why do you stay up; waiting, your eyes
bleary for a man who doesn't know you exist?

Oh it's so not fair but was it ever, girl?
Like a toxic lullaby, your choked-up whispers
play through my brain; singing
sometimes, telling me secrets.
And that noise; a door slamming,
a key turning in a dreaded half-lock,
a memory from a television nightmare
reminds me of the things that shook up
our childhood, how I loved you too much.
Beverley, I loved you all wrong..
You said once, “We're twisted, boy..
So even though your eyes are bright
cornflower-blue; sadly romantic, and
your hands on my ribs make me giggle;
tickling under the layers of cloth and make me
feel alive, please don't push this any further.
Our luck is disappearing, boy.
Tonight is too slippery a rope to hold onto so
please don't kiss me like I'm your girlfriend.”

You're not; I know, goddammit!
I remind myself of this every time we meet
during the holidays; Thanksgiving,
Christmas dinners when you leave me
with a giant hole in my chest; empty
without garlands, without maple-candy
and missing pages from your diary.
And “I didn't mean to hurt you!”
you almost scream, anger and sadness
warring in your half-diamond stare.
“Why can't I do anything right?”
Oh girl, don't torture yourself..

If there's anyone I know who can pick herself back up,
keep fighting, even when all the odds are against her;
an apocalyptic storm on the horizon, a radioactive
flower in the sky, it's you.
Girl, you never die young..
Too pretty to go unnoticed by Hollywood directors;
by psyched-out surfers, politicians' sons,
by New York gangsters who never saw
a paradise that wasn't army-green..
You're so much more than that.

Sweetheart, I hope you see what I see
in a pond's forest-gray reflection.
I hope, Beverley; you don't think
I'm full of shit because we only live once
and your slim body; dressed in autumn-rust
coral in my arms, makes it worth the trip.
Yeah, it doesn't matter but so much time has
passed since I held you against my chest;
inhaled your grass-honey scent and thought
the world wasn't so evil.
Oh Beverley, I don't mean
to make you feel guilty but that night was
magical and I can't help
but wonder if there's a chance we could
experience it all again..

“No, we can't!”
Girl, after that rose-gunpowder kiss,
that's what you say but I don't think
you really mean it.
Beverley, I don't think you want
to let this die so soon..
“Quit pulling me in!”
Beverley, you're an independent soul;
you can leave whenever you want.
“It's not that easy..”
Of course not, sweetheart.
If it were, we wouldn't be here and
maybe we're not really here at all..
Maybe we're already far away;
on the other side of the Mississippi,
dancing to street-jazz, sipping
bourbon under a broken-swing moon.

“Boy, don't be silly,” you say,
a hesitant little smile pulling
at the corners of your mouth.
“It's been years since my fifteenth birthday;
irregular communion ceremony,
all cream-lilies dying in the back
of a black-dahlia church.
But still, I recall;
you never liked dancing, much..”

“Maybe I've changed,” I reply slowly,
my eyes unwillingly dropping to your
triangular steam-punk neckline,
the soft curves of your shy frame.
“Maybe you have, as well.”
Girl, I've tried so hard not to think
about your shoulder-length blond hair
that I was forced to chop off years ago,
that you never forgave me for.
“That's not true,” you say.
“I know it wasn't your fault.”
But secret-October, I've tried so hard
not to imagine what would have happened
if those long strands had stayed;
if they'd slid through my fingers
as you kissed my cheek, and
my hand crawled up your spine.

Oh fuck me, October..
It's such a wicked thing to think about
but still I can't resist
like Halloween candy; all those crisp
apple-chips, spicy cinnamon-bites and
let's not forget, chocolate orange-peels.
Girl, you can melt on my tongue..
But “No, this is wrong,” a tiny voice
whispers because; god,
I'm so close to reaching out; folding
my arms around you.
“Make me break,” you murmur, backing me
up into a corner.
“It's a good kind of weakness.”
But you should have known
I'd turn the tables on you, girl.

The old Faye Wong record drowns out
your louder angel-proof groans.
And yet; I can still hear them, black-eyed Susan.
They vibrate through the walls.
Night rolls on top of us and we barely notice,
not even when the beds creak;
the doves outside stop chirping and the late
spring air drops to a winter-low.
Nostalgic; the wind wants us to recall
what it's like to freeze in
each others'arms but I'm not doing that again,
honey; I'm not letting you slip away slowly,
thinking about another boy
as you lie next to me.

Oh call me cruel and deviant;
a selfish little pianist,
trying to charm you with moonlit concertos
and leave you treble-clef bruised.
But girl, that's not what I want.
See; how dare you, autumn-leaf?
All I've ever wanted was to be this close.
And to hell with society, girl;
to hell with acceptance!
In a world where we always lose;
the outcast's struggle,
what does it matter that doomed?

“Oh what happened to that boy
with the sunny smile, the boy who told me
to never stop doubting our mother?
Remember how you used to annoy me
as we sat on the rooftop, making me think
we could fly, even though I felt so stuck;
my wings chalk-white and fragile-boned?”
But Beverley, you ask me,
“What happened to that boy?”
And how can I respond?
Girl, he grew up; got tired
of waiting under a lamppost, that's what.
He got tired of chewing on
the word “goodbye” so many times, that it
tasted stale; lemon-drop betrayal.
So sick, he felt; watching you
dressed as Juliet onstage, all
ribbons in your hair, medieval gown torn
and bleeding innocence;
scarlet-rose virginity, girl; calling out
another man's name,
running after another fool, instead of him.
The garden is covered with snow; everything
trimmed with now silver ivy instead of green
and even the bird-bath is clear, the sparrows
a frozen memory; a myth, almost.
Oh were they really here, what about me?

Will you remember that I wasn't always
this numb; this pale, this weak as poison
enters my bloodstream and fills my body
with foxglove-yellow, purple flowers, boy?
Will you remember a time when I wasn't gasping for
an answer to a question only the angels could hear?
I'm worried, as ridiculous as this sounds,
all things considered; the sight of a wound
blossoming on my side, under my left lung, the one
supposedly sheltering an eagle-heart,
capable of sacrifice.

Boy, I know it's ridiculous; stupid, even tragic
at a time like this, so fleeting; to be thinking
about appearances,
how everything looks from outside this
witch-house mirror.
But this is me; lying here, the very
spot where my mind went blank,
my senses dulled down forever.
And somehow, I ceased to exist
in the present-tense; can you explain that?

And “If I Die Young”; I used to sing
that song all the time in the car;
on my way to school, to work in that
old-fashioned malt-shop downtown
where all the old gals from the 80s
like to try on vintage clothing,
forgetting that they no longer fit
into skinny jeans; David Bowie
type rebellion and acidic makeup.
Now though, I have to laugh at
the irony, my little darling.
Who would've thought that those
lyrics would relate to us so well?
This underground-Hollywood
scene is a beautifully tragic one..

But “How could anything about
this moment ever be beautiful?
Girl, are you crazy?” you ask me,
your voice all choked-up; torn, not
sounding like your true self at all.
“I'm here; I'm holding you close against my chest.
I'm covering the wound with my hands;
but still, your body won't stop shaking,
turning white like beach-wood hidden in the sand.
How can anything be alright?”
Oh friend, I know what you mean..
Even though my vision is fleeting;
carousel-lights behind my eyelids,
swirling too fast to focus on, break out of
the darkness, I can feel every word
you're trying to illustrate so vividly.
But I still wouldn't change a thing..
There are worse ways to leave this world
than falling asleep in the circle of
your cedar-toned arms, boy.

“No, don't say that!” you whisper hoarsely.
“If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have
gotten into such an unfair match; a heated
struggle for power that doesn't mean anything.”
And sweeping unruly locks of
gingerbread-colored hair from my forehead,
you add shamelessly, friend:
“Nothing we do matters in the end.
Girl, I can't take away your pain.”
But maybe that's not the most important
thing, maybe we've already won.
“What do you mean, tiger-lily?”
But rough-diamond, I can't even begin
to tell you so please let me go.
“No,” you shake your head. “I don't want to.”
Boy, you've turned into a child.
Suddenly, you're so vulnerable.

But my silly dove, how many times have
I told you: “Stop flying so close to the steeples.
Don't you know they can pierce you?"
But still you never listened..
You were always flapping those silver wings,
never satisfied with a clear day's end.
Heaven was like a ladle of milk;
spilling over your bones,
making them grow strong, more stubborn.
Oh you were just as tall
as any summer-storm premmie hopes to be.

Yet, you wanted your life to mean more
than plastic trophies, stuffed animals won
for girls at carnivals who eventually broke your heart.
Well, take it from someone who's been there, who's now
on the outside, looking in; your legacy is not the last
thing you did wrong, it's not the first kiss we shared
or even the memory of my briar-rose blood
staining your favorite scarf.
No, friend; I was struck and against you, I fell but
that's okay because there are worse ways
to leave this world, I should know;
uglier deaths with poison, witches,
broomsticks and swords.
But I was lucky because you sent me away; all pure
like ribbon-snow, so quietly.
And now, don't blame yourself..
And now, don't let this year end
with beaded-ice tears stuck to your lashes; a ghost
hand-print on your car window.

You're doing our relationship;
our see-saw friendship, a disservice here
by shouldering the burden of
a dreary Saturday afternoon crime, tragic awakening.
You couldn't stop it so don't sit there
sobbing, saying nothing else matters
because you have a lot of people who
care and this isn't your swan-song.

It's mine; not yours, not your turn
to go and give yourself up to a western wind;
a mad angel's trickster arms, shaky
embrace on the wings of storybook dragons.
Oh this chorus is mine, boy.
I won't let anyone take it away
from me, not even you..
Not even the Coney Island
prince who I thought I'd go to prom with,
share memories of camping
trips; picnic scenes, phone
conversations, naked-teasing.

All that was sweet but the time
to say farewell and cast your golden
flowers into the sea, is here.


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


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TheKerwinator Featured By Owner 2 days ago  New Deviant Professional Writer
Thank you for the fav! I appreciate it. :D
oviedomedina Featured By Owner 3 days ago
Thank you for the favorite!
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for faving, Sharon.  Hope you have a great weekend.  :)
wordturner Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2015
Thank you for the Fave!!
Serendiipitii Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the support, I really appreciate it :rose:
TheFlawedOne Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave!
Phisisturae Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2015  Student Writer
Thanks for the :+fav: :la:
anylife Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2015  Student Photographer
thanks for the fav ! :heart:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello Sharon.  Thank you kindly for your support!  :)
KimchiMuse Featured By Owner Oct 2, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
I think I've fainted.  Hug Heart Love 
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