I just wish some wounds were big enough to write about. //Happy Birthday, fifteen. I knew you, with your feathers and your fables, how you tumbled all the tables, I knew you, angsty like an album, I showed you like an emblem. I knew you, wanting to vaporize in a field for only a thousand years, I knew you'd puked up all of your fears. The knots and scathings, the dancing like a witchdoctor, the chest you grew, along with taboos, the gross halo on your head, faded frocks and broken wands, cherry stalks who looked more human than you, I knew you. I knew you knew filthy gods and eyes that pricked your head, the curtains you wore, the stones you thought were shoes and you couldn't run in them. You couldn't run. I knew you, wanting to sit in the box forever (I wish you had soft toys in it) before I fetched the bolt cutters. You are the child I was sick of, but wanted more than any other.// I'm going back to that field today. Without those long long braided hair and the summer that used to hurt. #fifteen_ramona
