You loved the way she moved, in such a sensual sense, control of all her motions, exhibiting all of the draws of youth, flexibility of joints while remaining so vacantly mysterious that you had no choice other than to be curious and to fantasize. I want a woman who moves that way, I want a woman whose lips can part and whose voice teaches me exactly what it is to be a man. Make-up and clothing aside, only a siren can draw me to my death in the deep where I realise, but do not care that, even lovers drown.
I find a happiness in the pink silk of the days of old. The nights in which I wore fuchsia and danced until I sweated, oblivious to desire and all that it entailed, still an innocent among so many tainted and inebriated. I would like it if you knew me since then, could tell me the fantasies you held over my nine-year-old body and were you faithful, do you see me now? You said then that I was of captivating beauty and now you and I both share age-- is it still nine year olds for you, or do my downward-sloping bedroom eyes still do the trick? Or do I make you sick?
I've got the blonde pigtails and the pleated skirt, the wicked grin and the strokes that make it hurt. My tongue designated to nasty tricks like the drugdealer who can give you fix. Would you like it if I asserted my specialty onto you? Would you like it if mine was the kiss to pull you through?
Am I the girl you imagined to bop from flower to flower, gathering nectar like a hummingbird? Am I the one you rely on to gather such nectar as to create a life of sudden and less sullen peace? I can suck and I can sap but those, dear, seem to be merely abilities-- I was trained to hunt and gather but I would very much rather use what I have learned than show you what is natural. Can a girl of utter naturality mover her hips against yours, smile and excite, laugh and encite you that way that I can? Can I ever hope to fill, to top, that post I had as a girl of blonde with eyes of blue that made you stray, the girl that lured you?
You'll call me names in the days to come but even that can't make our deeds undone. Denial can be a powerful tool, what I regard as means-- you see as fuel. I drank till I was full and you drank until you were a fool. It will be cold in Hell before you and I see alike, it will be an insanity to sanity before we tango and think in all reality the thoughts we are all supposed to think. When will I be the damsel from whom you want extra time and a kiss? I'm not flirty, and I'm not a fantasy, but one day perhaps I will be enough to be wanted.
The fairy tales stop here-- I will forever drive through the towns reminiscent of my childhood, obeying all of the speed limits and casting an appraising yet realistic glance on. Could I be happy here, could I be happy there, could this road that conjures tears be enough?
I'm old enough to know better and yet still too young to know the difference. When I was thirteen, I was oblivious to the election, and now people that age are vehemently involved. People are starting to do things younger and younger. In the days of cavemen, people started families at about 14 years of age. As much as I despise society... I do not wish a baby on my brother of 16 years. I wish for everyone to be more stable than I am first.
My PEZ reality dispenser is empty-- but I just don't care.
If my funeral was today, what would you say?