No space for wild girls

For The Wayfarer, Love

I never stop being amazed.

When I was young, and wanted to run and run until I finally found a place in the world I felt alive, dip my hair in feral mermaid greens, creep into empty practice rooms and talk to the piano all day long, or just wake in time to watch the dawn shift into that singular, magical violet, the world made sure I was buried alive; pushed down to explore fierce underworlds. Spittle on the bus and fractured fingers, and later, blister packs full of soothing syllables to keep the lid on a boiling girl. These were the days of dial-up AOL taking wobbling steps toward the future, of borrowing an older girl’s copy of Romeo + Juliet and watching Claire Danes redefine the doomed romantic innocence I felt fluttering between my ribs; of plastic barbed wire bracelets and grimacing around smeared cherry lip gloss and…

View original post 855 more words

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Blog.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s