Do you recall, that song?
The one we danced to nightly,
With our bare feet in the dew covered grass?
How the cicadas sang for us and crickets played the music
The frogs would sing base
Sometimes the rain would provide the beat
Fireflies were our spotlights
Stars, our spectators
The breezes played the leaves to add subtle background
To that decadent song the nights played
For us
Our song
Cicada Song

It was called "The Right Of Spring"
I was scared, excited, elated
Taking my place on the stage above the footlights,
I shook, like an earthquake of the soul
I'd danced this piece several times before, but never in front of such a number of eyes
The other dancers seemed fine
We'd practiced for 8 months for this particular show
We were to perform twice daily, for 3 days
Hard, excruciating work
But such is the dance
I began to sweat profusely, I felt the blood draining from my face
And right at the second turn,
I hit the floor with a thud.
Becoming human

I don't look like me, I don't sound like me,
I don't feel like me.
Sometimes it feels not like I'm in the present,
But like I'm from the future sent back too far into the past,
And I'm impatiently waiting, playing catch up
Until my body grows into its brain.
Please, god, let me grow into myself.
My skin feels stretched too tightly over brittle bones,
And my muscles are so itchy,
I want to rip away my flesh just to reach inside.
My heart clamours incessantly, hurling itself at my rib cage
With such ferocity that my entire chest shakes with its beating.
Please, god, let something quieten it,
And if it can't appease it, please, god, let something silence it for good.

He was in a cafe across the tracks,
Leaning against an ancient, crumbling brick wall
The sun hung low through the window showing off a gold halo in his hair
On his lap he held his six string,
Gently strumming a soft tune
She watched, from just inside the brick archway
The guitar mans lips were red as a bleeding rose
He gave her a glance, sideways, showing her a colour of blue she'd never seen before
Her breathing stopped
Moving forward, entranced, toward the strumming siren
She couldn't help herself
Her deft movements, won her a second glance, and half a smile
Yet, still he played on
And it became clear then, he already held his only love
He was, after all,
A guitar man

My stars have all been crossed
Faded and wrong
It wasn't supposed to be this way
I am not supposed to be her.

I took the wrong fork
At the crossroads.