a little girl, perhaps 5-6, sits in the meadow and picks flowers. she picks the flowers slowly, meticulously. she looks up and sees a beautiful teenaged girl, with a long flowing dress and short hair with splotches missing. the teenager sits with the little girl. "what happened to your hair?" the little one asks.

"once upon a time,
I picked flowers just like you.
but I picked them all."

the young girl listens and keeps picking her flowers.

"I met a boy who
promised I was beautiful
and made me feel so."

the teenager begin taking the flowers and winding them together. she grabs her knitting needles out of her handmade purse and continues working on a hat to keep her hands busy.

"he always told me
that my head was too pretty
for me to be sad."

"Did he love you?" the little girl asks, playing with her hands.

"perhaps he did, but
he never said that he did.
he never told me."

"after I ran out
of flowers, I began pull-
ing my long hair out."

"please don't end up like me." the teenager says, handing the girl the hat.

I watched him read
my little blurbs
no doubt seeing
whispers of his fingers
tracing its lines.

'it's not the
best thing
I've ever
written,'
I said.

I hear the beating of your heart,
I close my eyes from dreams apart.

Nothing I do can make you mine,
when I can’t write one single line.

Whisper in my ear that wondrous night,
I was too afraid and could but fight.

This was my easy game to lose,
I never should have made you choose.

I wished that you could set me free,
from everything I should not be.

Beyond the veil I still see your face,
watching over me as I gave chase.

I never thought I’d be the one,
who messed it up for wont of fun.

An echo in my tortured soul,
and for a chance to be now whole.

There are no more words that I can say,
to make it all seem a-okay.

You told me once that I was wise,
until you saw through my disguise.

There’s somewhere new for us to make,
where it must fail to make us break.

All I ask of you is one last chance,
to change amid a final dance.

she'd weave secrets the size of osiris
into her honey-dripping locks
while watering the lawn
     beer and juice in the same glass that i first drank from

who'd have guessed
that all "growing up" meant
     was accepting the fact
that our parents made masterpieces in their sleep