somewhere, stars hidden by light pollution.
below, girls huddle. in corners, under couches, behind

headboards of cheap bunk beds. girls become gasoline, votaile
and ready to be ignated with a single flame. at least burn down

the house, at least spit out their lithium into an empty water bottle.
okay. i won't get started on the honda civic. it knows what it did.

bad man. bad desire. bad day to be sadgirl. but here, not hell,
not purgatory. girls can't recall anything, for threat

of severance. here, there is no language for joy,
only cheap rewards and the occasional Sour Patch Kid.

when snow falls we play in it and cry. please, don't
call us imprisoned, call it a next step.

i say my own name when i write.
i go out for pizza and sadly, come back.

Like a wilted plant I was caught in a ceramic *** painted like a spider web
You were my love and the band of my existence
Saying that isn't enough when I mean to say you were a ballet dancer
and a poppy seed bagel and a brand new bottle of nail polish
a champion of industry and and unsharpened pencil

I have a picture we took together
its your blurry childhood hand snatching at the camera
I clicked the button and flash there it was
a stuck moment in time
a time of playful zoo days and class field trips

Together we were a couple of culture shock cuties and sadgirl themes
making a red wine grin

You were a love and You were my artist but your friend caught my eye