The Path To The Cool Girl
How serene is the melody of the cool girl that I never was;
Kristin was the first one to command me
to leave the back of the bus
because I was not cool enough take up the seating room-
(In my corner of the world
that was how you determined coolness in those days)
But my pretty face,
my precocious nature
fuelled in my later years,
my womanly breasts
against my little girl body, and how
it was her boyfriend who took a kiss
from my lips
underneath the bleachers
in Jr. High.
(Am I still ugly and un-cool to you?)
He certainly didn't seem to think so.
Was it my mothers fountains
that brought tragedy to our door
the seizures of March
-three week hospital stay-
or the rape in July
I can never be sure
two years after
the first day of my senior year
memories on my paper again
and how I broke all of the porcelain statues;
and how all of the poems
make no sense
I sold all of my award winning photographs at a garage sale
a wonderful women asked my name
thinking that one day I might be famous
and in her hand she was holding an original piece
of cold hard cash
if in her mind
everything worked out for me
I could have been something
but I think
that I'd rather be nothing right now.
I've always been a little strange
attracted to the blue light
of the stage
and how I wanted so badly to make them laugh
but instead only made them cry.
I was tragic
in those days when Tommy had a crush on me
and in the oppression
from that women who truly was thinking only of herself
Morgan and I rebelled
around the stage
and acting like idiots
just to let our hate for her out
in a calm and orderly fashion.
I don't know now if I could ever get back on that stage
reenter my high school
long enough to say farewell to all the people who truly mattered
skipping over the nametags
that always kept me silent,
I cut all of my hair off
the present course of my life
to finally wish to walk in the sunlight
let it burn
my milky skin
and finally be normal
in all of their eyes.
I played games
to make it in that little house
comparing myself to a rose
each season I am meant to wither
only to bloom again
more powerful then before.
But no one listened
and the line
so I went away.
Long hours away from home;
long hours away from myself.
How many years did I wish to be normal
satisfied with myself
and not so scattered
across this map
this continent where, if you look close enough
can show you the slow beat of my heart
if you are open to search for it
somewhere beyond us both.
I tell you know
that I have leaned on no one
to get where I am
that if you find my verses beautiful
then you must know
that I have been writing long before I thought I was anything
and long after I knew that I was nothing.
You should know that I am in no way
and in no way
that I have never been
(but who is really?)
Have I said to much?
Have I expressed to little?
Has the sweetness of that little girl with the faded journal
with the golden etched angels in the corners
shifted so far away from me that I can no longer see her.
Have all of the boys;
the cruel boys
that I have laid my kisses upon
crept so heartlessly into my soul
that polluted forever will it be.
I cannot tell you;
but I do know
that it has been traveling the path to that cool girl;
that girl that has never been
that has hurt me the most.