Miss Lucy had a steamboat, the steamboat had a bell (ding ding)
Miss Lucy went to heaven and the steamboat went to-

"Hell, you're king of asphodel and I'm the
queens are only figureheads pretending to
'rule the chalky darkness and master your
light' fires in my soul with a lonely wet
match up the boys and the girls and ignore their
desire is a sickly sweet syrup, poisoning your
veins are so easy to reach when a blade is your
cure me cure me but only how I want to be
cured minds are a cracked figment of our
imagination is henceforth forbidden, it hinders
conformity of anger is an empty and broken
safety has always belonged to those who lie the
best hate others or they'll love to hate you
first come first serve, no matter where you came
from the sewage of the silt of society we will
'rise if you believe in miracles' no, but I think there's
hope is the thing they say we have but forgot to give
us quiet kids are always too busy being
NORMAL is not what you said it was, nice try
though we are free, you have forgotten to tell us
so it goes, so it goes, one day I had been
dreaming is something she hates so she's begun to
smile, it's a wonderful mask to wear when you're
collapsing is my specialty, I'm just like all the
others being in pain does not mean I should not
cry out all you want, science proved that God's not
listening to the sound of silence is long since out of
style is a name and a number and a broken
incarceration may cure me, but once I was just like
you have the power but we have the money to fake
it cannot drown softly if it never wanted to
begin at the beginning and we will all be
lost along the skeleton bridges, I began to
walk with me, walk with me. It's always a day that's-"

Darker than the ocean, darker than the sea!
Darker than the underwear my mommy put on YOU NOT ME!

You're swirling in embered light
Gravity breathing out of your pores
I am a comet, burning ice in my wake
And you are the sol I come too close to

If I could breathe anything, it would be lilies
If you could hate anything, it would be air
You are so bright that when I close my eyes
I can see nothing but feathered fire

At the center of the universe, there's a tree of souls
Eris and Phobias collect its molt
They rain it down through the smog 'till it shatters on concrete
I watch as you catch it on your tongue

I found you on the drenched roof
Pale and glowing and still
Stars clinked in the sky with a diamond jangle
One had fallen, burrowing under your skin

And you told me you were sick with trying
And you told me that it hurt to burn
And you were cold and apathetic
You were you, but not the one that knew me

You flamed and flamed and flamed and flamed
You crashed and told no one at all
I miss you and I love you
Though you shine so differently now

I press my thumbs into your skin
Kiss pearls along your spine
Your sighs are full of half-said words
Your fingers lace with mine.

If we were angels, I'd have one wing
My halo's in your hand
I wish that we were better
We're no more than we can stand.

So tell them that it's all okay,
Your soul's not shattered gems
I may be broken, but I'm not wise
You sigh; "Kiss me again?"

We laugh and laugh 'cause if we cry
Our lungs won't take in air
We are statues made of stardust
I'd forgotten how to care.

I am the sparks within your nerves
You're marrow of my bones
I smile and smile and tell them all:
"At long last, I am home."

(If you knew this place as I know it)

I am not just me. I have never been just me. I am a patchwork of everything that has been done to me, and that has nothing to do with being just. I am not perfect because I have never experienced perfection, my life has never been picked through for the best footage. I’m bearing the weight of the dailies, every last one of them.

I am not a story. My body is not made of letters, no meticulous thought has gone into me, I have not been drafted and re-drafted until there are no spelling errors in my bones. That does not mean I cannot create stories. I may not be made of the things I write, but the pieces of the world around me are enough that I can give a little of myself to many while still being whole.

If you knew myself as I know me, you would hate it, too much, too little, unevenly and over-dramatically. I don’t know myself at all and too well, all at once.

If you knew this world as I know it, you would love it. Love it and hate it, hate it because it’s going and love it because you’re going with it. I will keep telling myself that different does not mean good or bad, but I’ll still miss picking a crimson leaf out of a stream of sunlight in the middle of snowy fall.

You would miss it. You would miss sleeping. You would miss not being scared. You would miss being able to love everyone. You would miss thinking that everyone was willing to love you. You would miss your friends being free and knowing what you wanted for Christmas and not worrying about being afraid to look in the mirror.

You would miss six feet of snow in November.

And you would love it. You would love knowing more, knowing better, knowing more clearly, more complexly, and more meaningfully. You would love knowing that spellcheck and calculators that do long division exist. You would love re-learning how to imagine the world, to question everything, to accept and believe, to understand a life that is not your own.

I am not just me. I have never been just me. I am not lonely. I am not alone.

(I'm sorry if I sometimes need reminding).

A photograph
pries a velvet kaleidoscope
from living

like flesh parting bone
ripped and torn
by the ravenous jaws of a great lioness

it snaps a fluid stream
with no beginning
no end

it chops to a point
which cannot flutter
because it has no wings

it is only an end
less than ephemeral
meaningless

“Once I was a princess, and moonlight was my kin
My hands as soft as silk, jewels dripping down my skin
I am still a princess, though I seem not to be
My hair’s gone coarse, my eyes pure white, and yet I am still me
My mother was a queen and my father was a saint
My soul’s as pure as dewdrops, my blood bears not a taint
I spin a web to catch the dreams that drift down from the stars
They dance and jump and weave till I collect them in my jars
I am but a humble merchant, I only sell you what you’re due.”

Said the fly to the spider:
“I was once a princess too.”


-Chloe S.

I picked the whitest lily boat and set it on the shore
I thought it held a diamond prince, going off to war
I kissed him and I set him free; he wasn’t back today
I guess it’s just like Mama says: some things aren’t meant to stay

My prince is on the river now, finding sea-glass sand
He’ll take the brightest jewel around to put on my left hand
That must be why his boat’s not docked! He just needs one more day
I’ll wait and whisper to the forest; it won’t sail away

The sky is weeping soft and slow like Mama’s lullabies
Mist tiptoes in from water’s edge; wind skims my hair and dies
I hug my knees and close my eyes; I listen to the rain
The red leaves are my castle roof, the lake: my windowpane

Dandelions are soaked through now; no wishes left for me
The branches quiver, twirling down some helicopter seeds
Someday soon my prince will bring white lilies to my door
His smile will light up the air and I’ll be at home once more


-Chloe S.