Us girls we love stitches
shadows all the flowers in between
rain on windows with the soft
red glow of a departed train.
at least i do. My girl does.
My armor stand idol avatar of a teen.
My girl loves that green thread
you use to patch up those
broken verses stanzas. hearts.
yes my girl she loves fixing.
wrenches. guitar strings.
brass wire. silver sparks.
small words much might.
my girl if she’s helpful
if she’s nice and told so smiled at.
she glows.
and she grins back forgets about
her yellow teeth and slowly failing
brain. Forgets the failure to soon
come, less than seventy years in the
making
forgets the history and wool smoke
cushions against lips. jewels on bones.
My girl. please don’t worry just tell her
tell her she’s beautiful. she thinks
she’s ugly. hideous and all scratched up.
but if for a second in a mirror she catches
herself, stares at her reflection
and doesn’t flinch, forgives freckles.
if she does that, if only for a moment then
remind her of how kind she can be.
nice she can be.
remind her she has those things.
always had them always will.
she’ll believe little pink cake she is then
and when she’s lying was lied to bleeding
screaming red cheeks tears of fire on her face
remind her then too.
tell her then too.
tell her nothing’s wrong when she thinks
she’s going insane. deranged gone forever.
when she’s been betrayed, when she’s
betrayed herself. when she’s been buried.
when she’s buried herself.
Remind her
that she is the fire the wave the salty sea
she she she is the stitches the wound
she is unstoppable. beacon. gem.
torn and healed and flawless marble.
when she’s mean—don’t let her be mean.
don’t let her anger turn coal black and into
something like a dark and poisonous vine.
show her the flowers drifting in the pool.
chlorine and daffodils petals and sky.
lights and covers and shining shining blue.
my girl she loves flowers hates the wilt.
my girl, me, my reflection. please.
hold her as she holds her head. hold her
as she spirals in and out of that dead death
whirlpool. She is beautiful beneath.
She is perfect sometimes broken often.
really through truly through. just please.
don’t let her hide behind that tapestry
of puffy pastries and glorious disorders.
don’t let her lose her mind but please please
keep keep letting her cry.
even if your only repayment is a
grateful prayer on her deathbed lips.
girls are fragile. they love stitches but
they can’t always stitch themselves up.
and my girl. my girl my girl.
she needs you. she needs you
more than the record will ever show.
more than you could ever know.