Red Baby Shoes

This is the story of how the day and the night fell in love, and how the day grew to hate the night.

Something like a missile. You tore through my chest, ripped through my body in one clean swipe. I didn’t even see it coming. Just one morning outside counting cracks in the pavement and you walked right up to me and took my breath away.

“Got a light?” You asked. 

“Smoke free since ’93,” I played along with your eyes. You looked at me, eye level. I could tell you were different. Your long black hair flowing ever so gently in the suburban breeze, half covered by a purple beanie. 

“Whatever,” you turned around and started walking down the street. Your red converse shoes kissing the sidewalk. I’ll never forget them. They were the anchor in the ocean that was you. A defining feature of your perfection. Much like your eyes. Your lips. And your fingertips.

“I’ve got something better,” I bit my lip in anticipation. You turned around.

“Try me,” you said, swinging towards me. 

“Come with me.”

You followed close behind me through the rows of crowded homes. Each house full of stories and you looked through every window making up stories as you went along. They go to France every summer and while they’re gone, Cecile’s parents play bridge there. They don’t even know about it. Or the less innocent ones you conjured up, I think those are the ones that made me fall in love with you. In the living room of this house, an entire family was murdered by the mob.  It turned out that the mob hit the wrong family. Tragic. But actually quite beautiful because they all died together. 

Finally, we reached my destination. The sun was falling behind the hills and a perfect glow cascaded off of your skin. The swing set on the hill looked over the suburban homes that you turned into a vibrant city inside of your head. I held your hand and we sat on the swings. 

“Can I ask you something?” You said, staring longingly into the sun. You didn’t wait for my reply to continue. “I’ve known you forever. It’s the way I see you, and I hope you see me this way too. I think you’re perfect. You’re beautiful. Can I love you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my heart thudded around in my chest like someone had attached themselves to it. 

“I want you. And when I say I want you, I don’t mean I want just your body. Or even just your heart. I want everything that makes you, you. Your eyes, your skin, your hair, your soul, your mind. I want to lay next to you in the grass and look at the sky and make shapes out of clouds with you. And when the sun flies down, I want to make wishes on stars with you. I want to know everything about you,” you sounded scared. “So can I love you?”

“Only if you’ll let me love you,” you smiled at me, relief stuck between your teeth. 

“I’ll let you know everything. You make me want to try,” you stood in front of me. 

Eye to eye, nose to nose. You wrapped your arms around my waist, your warmth strengthened me. Your face hovered in front of mine. Your neck subtly moving itself closer to me. I wondered when you were going to kiss me. You clung to me. It was almost like a mass was developing between us, and one kiss would pop the bubble. So I did it. I kissed you and everything I had hoped for went into your mouth. You were perfect. 

I loved you. But then something happened. You found someone else counting cracks on the pavement. You bought them lemonade and told them the same thing that you told me. Even in your destroying of me, you were perfect. I would have been perfect for you, but you let a few left handed lovers get in your way. They changed you. The only brightness left of you shimmers through the cracks of black. That’s how I know you aren’t truly a dark sheet. The holes in your skin show the world how underneath, you’re bright. Just as bright as the day I met you. 

Someday I’ll take you back. When the holes in your skin get bigger, we’ll be together again. But for now, we must stay apart. Coming together only on that hill, twice a day. You catch my eye as I’m going home and as I’m leaving it. I always notice your shoes though. Those vibrant red converse. I look for them everywhere I go.  

A Desperate Endeavor

You look pretty when you cry,
Like a sliver of light in the midnight sky,
You poke through the skin of the dark,
Set the world aflame with your eyes I see a spark.

Everything you touch crumbles,
And nothing about your deviance is humble,
You boast but you're still alone,
You tremble as you grasp the unknown.

Can you take another day with this lie?
While inside you watch yourself die?
You're trying too hard,
Your innocence has been charred.

You did this to yourself you know,
There is no way you can just let it go,
A broken beauty is a wholesome beast,
Stay stunned forever and watch your chances decrease.

Out of something awful comes something strong,
But you're using it all wrong,
The past keeps you awake at night,
Resume it in the morning and feel alright.

Straighten your bow,
Reach a new low,
Get higher than ever,
Pursue your last desperate endeavor.

Cinderella Falls From The Freeway.

From afar, this girl is a flawless example of western culture.  But look closely and she is far from flawless. She's a radiant star in a midsummers dream. But the flowing of her white dress resembles nothing, but it's still trembling with some sense of beauty. Her long hair drenched in impulsive lies and the constant heat in the back of your neck that says you've done something wrong. The wonder presented by her body is quickly devastated as she makes her way into your soul.
Those eyes once so beautiful have turned to stone like the once pure heart that no longer pumps in her chest.
Everything has changed. That is painfully obvious. But no one can place just how.
The common story is that she drank herself away and fell in love with someone who didn't love her back. They say one too many cigarettes and you will be just like her.
But I see her as more than that. No one has ever seen an angel break one wing, but I have. And that angel is her. She's flawless to the sensual eye because she's ruined every other part of her life. Curves are the only thing she can control. Her eyes glazed over because who would want to see the things she's seen? And her heart stone in her chest because she's felt too much. She's tired.
Someday even her ugly beauty will run out, and nothing will be able to redeem her.
The final step in front of the Cadillac and now both of her wings are broken.
The monsters will catch her, and it's a shame... But it's just the way the game was written to be played.