Under a streetlight, like a moth dancing
through a foggy night, or a deer
cascading through a dark forest, I want
wildflowers to bloom all over me, I want
to be reborn. And I want to move
like I used to, then maybe you could
hold me, like you did
when I was young, before you were angry,
before I was set for the gallows. I miss
how we used to dance, I miss when I’d say,
“watch this”, and I’d do something stupid
that I could only dream of doing now. And still,
I wish I could be like I was, and I wonder
if you do too. We’re so alike, a moon
and sun, two twisted spines, two
spiders in a web that we struggle to crawl through.
And maybe that’s why I love you, not as a father, as
a human being. As the buck you shot, as the
Jersey boy your mom reminisces of. And maybe you love me not
as a daughter, but as the baby you held,
the fawn in the road you hit. But why do I burn still
with the wish that you would love me as I am
now, not as I was, not as a girl, but
as an adult with dreams, with aspirations, even though
you ripped them out of my hands, and stomped them out
as you did the cigarettes you used to smoke
with my mother.
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 4:42 PM UTC
Under a streetlight, like a moth dancing
through a foggy night, or a deer
cascading through a dark forest, I want
wildflowers to bloom all over me, I want
to be reborn. And I want to move
like I used to, then maybe you could
hold me, like you did
when I was young, before you were angry,
before I was set for the gallows. I miss
how we used to dance, I miss when I’d say,
“watch this”, and I’d do something stupid
that I could only dream of doing now. And still,
I wish I could be like I was, and I wonder
if you do too. We’re so alike, a moon
and sun, two twisted spines, two
spiders in a web that we struggle to crawl through.
And maybe that’s why I love you, not as a father, as
a human being. As the buck you shot, as the
Jersey boy your mom reminisces of. And maybe you love me not
as a daughter, but as the baby you held,
the fawn in the road you hit. But why do I burn still
with the wish that you would love me as I am
now, not as I was, not as a girl, but
as an adult with dreams, with aspirations, even though
you ripped them out of my hands, and stomped them out
as you did the cigarettes you used to smoke
with my mother.
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