Tuesday, July 15, 2008


I fell through the floor of my great cement tower and beneath me lives a boy who looks like DiCaprio and acts like Dean.

And this kid with the skateboard is my emo boy. You don't even want to know where I dug him up. Poetry class.

So that makes two and with me it's three and that's company or at least a tight corner. But no one loves you in winter, and a rebel beside you keeps you safe in the city. I'm all wild or washed up and seductive apparently.

I can't bring back what I haven't written, but there are girls painting tiny pictures and everyone's messy rooms are so so beautiful. I'm all free, in sandals, in transit, in Chinatown, in this park where I kissed two boys last afternoon.

Another for the A-list: Depp is the King Cry-Baby and Edward with those sissorhands and herein lie the differences between my you-know-whos. Edward is all for this and fifties boy finds out after class. Hmm hmm.

So they've sexed me up and they're texting me back, and I'm bored and I dream - about motorbikes, and the College Board. Send me my scores, tell me your intentions, pose for my pictures, write me a poem, kiss my hair, stop time, and make me brave.

Should we get up
Let's wake up
Let's get dressed
I'll let you walk me up the street
Back home

Thank you
It was great
Let's make another date
Real soon
In the afternoon

- Cat Power, "Could We"