I.
We traipsed into the cathedral
and found her lying on the floor.
They made the service public,
had forgot to slam the door.

II.
If you could have caught her up,
took her hands, you would.
But you're another sinner,
turn away and turn your hood.

III.
You wanted her stiff form
in a starched and ironed dress.
You yelled, you screamed,
and you did not digress.

IV.
Injustice is a girl
who is buried in a suit.

I.
He's asked me to tell him
that I am worth it
every day.

II.
A little bit of me
thinks it's very silly,
and it won't do a thing,
but
simply knowing he
cares enough to keep me doing it
means it's
at least a little true.

III.
I'm worth
something
to him.

I.
It isn't a long time,
really.
But when it becomes a
distance,
it hurts.

I.
I had a childhood just like
you,
if you'll recall.
Playmates in dresses
and pretending we could be
princesses,
and now we've grown
so tall.

II.
We all dreamed of
older things,
thought about marriages
and kids,
and even closer, prom.

III.
But you'll wear
a dress,
and I'll wear a suit.
You'll be a princess
and I'll be
a mock prince.

IV.
It isn't like I blame
the playmates
for distancing themselves.
The abandonment is
mutual,
but it still feels a bit like
separate hells.

I.
Bite-sized heaps of fresh
vegetables, overflowing with
sauces, olive oil
and mustard,
fresh herbs and
flower petals.

II.
Hearty and light,
the bite of lemon drizzled over the
thick sustenance
of root vegetables or
shredded meat.

III.
A meal you could
eat on Sunday morning -
potatoes, eggs, bacon, with
honey and herbs over everything,
blackberry jam and toast to the side,
a mug full of
whatever you'd like,
"Comin' right up, Sir."

IV.
A gourmet of flavors you
can carry in your right hand,
and a bundle of flowers you can
hang onto with your right.

I.
He carries a camera bag
now.
Photos in
black and white
not how the Yearbook wants them
but how he does.
He needs his own approval
now.

II.
He carries a vest
around his body,
something to make people stop and
guess
his gender
his name.
Ambiguous, a little
angry.

III.
He carries himself
as if he is going into war.
But he's proud
to go.

IV.
He carries himself
as the hero
he believes he
could still be.

I.
Confidence.
The word is so foreign to me
it tastes like
cotton candy.

II.
Too sweet,
after a day of nothing but
salt and tears.

III.
I eat it like cotton candy,
too.
Huge bites, gulping,
drowning in it would be a reprieve.
Eating it this fast
will simply give me
a stomach ache.

IV.
I became
something I could love.
I don't think anyone
believed I could pull it off.