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I'd Sit Around Dreaming That The Boys I Saw At Shows Or At Work - The Boys With Silver Earrings And Big Boots - Would Tell Me I Was Beautiful, Take Me Home And Feed Me Thai Food Or Omelets And Undress Me And Make Love To Me All Night With The Palm Trees Whispering Windsongs About A Tortured Gleaming City And The Moonlight Like Flame Melting Our Candle Bodies.

-Francesca Lia Block

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I'd Sit Around Dreaming

Francesca Lia Block

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I'd Sit Around Dreaming That The Boys I Saw At Shows Or At Work - The Boys With Silver Earrings And Big Boots - Would Tell Me I Was Beautiful, Take Me Home And Feed Me Thai Food Or Omelets And Undress Me And Make Love To Me All Night With The Palm Trees Whispering Windsongs About A Tortured Gleaming City And The Moonlight Like Flame Melting Our Candle Bodies.

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No Matter How Bad Things Get, You Can Always See The Beauty In Them. The Worse Things Get, The More You Have To Make Yourself See The Magic In Order To Survive.

Weetzie Wished She Could Shake Blue Glitter Around All Of Them - Keeping Them Sparkling And Safe.

Everything Was Fine, But Weetzie Wanted A Baby. “how Could You Want One?” My Secret Agent Lover Man Said. “there Are Way Too Many Babies. And Diseases. And Nuclear Accidents. And Crazy Psychos. We Cant Have A Baby,” He Said.

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You Are So Intense. Like A Storm. It's Shocking How Intense You Are.

She Wished She Had A Little Yellow House Of Her Own, With A Flower Box Full Of Real Flowers And Herbs – Pansies And Rosemary – And A Sweet Lover Who Would Swing Dance With Her In The Evenings And Cook Pasta And Read Poetry Aloud.

If Death Is Your Lover, You Don't Got To Be Afraid Ever That He Will Ever Leave You

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Okay. I Wish For World Peace,” Weetzie Said. “i Am Sorry,” The Genie Said. “i Cant Grant That Wish. Its Out Of My League.” “then I Wish For An Infinite Number Of Wishes!” Those People On Fairy Tales Never Thought Of That. “people In Fairy Tales Wish For That All The Time,” The Genie Said. “they Arent Stupid. It Just Isnt In The Records Because I Cant Grant That Type Of Wish.

We Got Quiet. The Garden Was Combing Her Hair And Putting On Earrings. The House Was Full Of Dancing Creatures, Not Male And Female But Both, Two Lovers In One Body. The Books Downstairs Were Reciting Their Poetry To Each Other, Rubbing Together, Whispering Through The Leather Covers. Wine Was Flowing Through The Water Pipes. You Had Caught My Leaping Heart In Your Hand Like A Fish.

That Was When I Cut My Arms With A Razor Blade As A Means Of Creative Expression. I Only Did It Lightly, Just Grazing The Skin, To See The Way The Blood Would Bleed Out, To Make Myself Look Tougher. Not Like Some Of Those Kids Who Keep Going Deeper And Deeper, Wondering What They Look Like Down To The Bone, Because It's A World That's So Close And Yet So Far And So Dangerous And So Much Their Own. The Only World That Is Their Own.

Sometimes A Wild Horse Needs To Feel That His Rider Is Just A Little Bit Wilder.

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This Was Not A Fearie Tale. This Was Not The Movies. This Was Life. It Hurt More. It Was Excruciating. It Was Excruciatingly Beautiful.

My Mother Says That Pain Is Hidden In Everyone You See. She Says Try To Imagine It Like Big Bunches Of Flowers That Everyone Is Carrying Around With Them. Think Of Your Pain Like A Big Bunch Of Red Roses, A Beautiful Thorn Necklace. Everyone Has One.

His Own Voice Was Older Than He Was. Ancient, Unearthed From Some Mystical Subterranean Place...the Voice Seemed To Make His Whole Body Ache. Maybe It Made Him Bleed Inside. I Wondered If It Hurt, If It Burned In His Throat.

Pulling Heads Off Barbies, Sticking Them On The Tv Antenna And Ruining The Reception. But Thats How Witch Babies Are.

I Could See The Veins Through Your Skin Like A Map To Inside You. How Could Skin Be That Thin? I Was So Afraid You Might Drop And Break. I Stopped Breathing So You Wouldn't.

I Wish I Wasn’t A Girl Who Needed So Much But A Little Free Creature That Slept In Deserts And Ran On Clouds And Lived On Lilies.

You Were Just A Boy On A Bed In A Room, Like A Kaleidoscope Is A Tube Full Of Bits Of Broken Glass. But The Way I Saw You Was Pieces Refracting The Light, Shifting Into An Infinite Universe Of Flowers And Rainbows And Insects And Planets, Magical Dividing Cells, Pictures No One Else Knew.

Wish On Everything. Pink Cars Are Good, Especially Old Ones. And Stars Of Course, First Stars And Shooting Stars. Planes Will Do If They Are The First Light In The Sky And Look Like Stars. Wish In Tunnels, Holding Your Breath And Lifting Your Feet Off The Ground. Birthday Candles. Baby Teeth.

If Los Angeles Is A Woman Reclining Billboard Model With Collagen-puffed Lips And Silicone-inflated Breasts, A Woman In A Magenta Convertible With Heart-shaped Sunglasses And Cotton Candy Hair; If Los Angeles Is This Woman, Then The San Fernando Valley Is Her Teenybopper Sister. The Teenybopper Sister Snaps Bug Stretchy Pink Bubbles Over Her Tongue And Checks Her Lipgloss In The Rearview Mirror, . . . Teeny Plays The Radio Too Loud And Bites Her Nails, Wondering If The Glitter Polish Will Poison Her.

I Wanted Him To Hold Me, To Take Care Of Me. To Make The Pain Dissolve Away. I Know That This Was Part Of What Had Ruined Everything But I Wanted It Once More Anyway.

You Must Reach Inside Yourselves Where I Live Like A Story, Not Old, Not Young Laughing At My Own Sorrow, Weeping Pearls At Weddings, Wielding A Torch To Melt Sand Into Something Clear And Bright.

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You Can't Doubt So Much, Psyche

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I Pounded Through The Houses, Staggering Down The Hallways, Falling Down The Steps. It Was A Hot Streaky Dawn Full Of Insecticides, Exhaust, Flowers That Could Make You Sick Or Fall In Love. My Battered Impala Was Still Parked There On The Side Of The Road And I Wanted To Lie Down On The Shredded Seats And Sleep And Sleep. But I Thought Of The Bones; I Could Hear Them Singing. They Needed Me To Write Their Song.

Falling In Love

At Least The Girls In Stories Were Alive Before They Died.

I Want Him To See The Flowers In My Eyes And Hear The Songs In My Hands.

Unrequited Love

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...it Felt Like They Were Telling Each Other Secrets. Everything They Said Felt Like That—whispered, Tender, Full Of Other Meanings, Like When You Tell Someone A Dream Or Talk About Your Astrological Signs As Code For All The Things You Love About Each Other.

The Rain Is Coming. Little Sister, The Night Broke. The Thunder Cracked My Brain Finally. The Rain Is Coming, I Promise You. I Didn’t Mean To But Your Tears Will Bring Life Back. Purple Flowers Grow, The Colour Blood Looks In The Veins. They’ll Sprout Out Of My Chest. I Promise You They’ll Crack The Ground, Grow Over The Freeways, Down The Slopes To The Sea. I’ll Be In Their Faces. I’ll Be In The Waves, Coming Down From The Sky. I’ll Be Inside The One Who Holds You. And Then I Won’t Be.

A Kiss About Apple Pie A La Mode With The Vanilla Creaminess Melting In The Pie Heat. A Kiss About Chocolate, When You Haven't Eaten Chocolate In A Year. A Kiss About Palm Trees Speeding By, Trailing Pink Clouds When You Drive Down The Strip Sizzling With Champagne. A Kiss About Spotlights Fanning The Sky And The Swollen Sea Spilling Like Tears All Over Your Legs.

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I Wanted To Die, Then. I Wanted To Destroy The Body I Was Trapped In, Become What She Was, No Matter What It Took. No Matter How Much Mutilation Or Pain. But He Looked Away, At Me. He Pulled My Face Down And Pressed My Lips Against His Like He Was Almost Trying To Suffocate Us Both.

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Welcome Beauty, Banish Fear.

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I Want To Be Untouchable And Beautiful And Completely Dead Inside.

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It Seems Impossible That You Can Love One Person So Much, No Matter What Happens, No Matter What They Do.

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He Was So Handsome,but He Didn't Look Well.he Reminded Her Of A Cigarette.

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I'd Sit Around Dreaming That The Boys I Saw At Shows Or At Work - The Boys With Silver Earrings And Big Boots - Would Tell Me I Was Beautiful, Take Me Home And Feed Me Thai Food Or Omelets And Undress Me And Make Love To Me All Night With The Palm Trees Whispering Windsongs About A Tortured Gleaming City And The Moonlight Like Flame Melting Our Candle Bodies.

You're Meant To Have Whatever Your Heart Desires. Whatever Your Heart Wants That Much Is Already A Part Of You.

You Asked Me Who I Thought I Was Before. I Said Maybe I Was A Fish Because I Love Water And You Said, You Thought A Mermaid, Maybe. If You Were A Mermaid, You Said, If You Were A Mermaid, I Was The Sea.

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I Dreamed Of Being A Part Of The Stories—even Terrifying One, Even Horror Stories—because At Least The Girls In Stories Were Alive Before They Died.

You Make Me Feel Like I Have Wings When You Touch Me.

You Make Me Feel

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When You Live In A City With No Stars To Wish On, You Have To Wish On Each Other.

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I Saw My Own Blood And I Thought, How Could I Live In A World Where This Exists- Where Love Can Become Death?

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After His Kisses And Hugs It Feels Like Without Them My Body Will Fall Apart Into Pieces.

The Circus Tent Was Flowing Pale In The Rain Like A Fleshy Flower Lit From Within. It Seemed To Bloom In The Downpour. Drops Of Rain Caught On Rafe's Eyelashes, Blinding Him As The Circus Light Struck Them. He Groped For The Flap, That Slit In The Fabric That Would Reveal Her To Him. She Was On The Rope Again, Her Skirt Flashing With Tiny Mirrors, Hair Braided With Petals. He Looked Up At Her, Dizzy With It, Seeing Her Face Framed In The Parasol. There Were Bluish Shadows Around Her Eyes.

Magic Can Be Found In Stolen Moments.

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I Will Be Thin And Pure Like A Glass Cup. Empty. Pure As Light. Music. I Move My Hands Over My Body - My Shoulders, My Collarbone, My Rib Cage, My Hip Bones Like Part Of An Animal Skull, My Small Thighs. In The Mirror My Face Is Pale And My Eyes Look Bruised. My Hair Is Pale And Thin And The Light Comes Through. I Could Be A Lot Younger Than Seventeen. I Could Be A Child Still, Untouched.

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He Said That Black Sheeps Express Everyone Else's Anger And Pain. It's Not That They Have All The Anger And Pain-they're Just The Only Ones Who Let It Out. Then The Other People Don't Have To.

You Are In My Blood. I Cant Help It. We Can't Be Anywhere Except Together

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I Dont Know About Happily Ever After... But I Know About Happily, Weetzie Bat Thought.

Happily Ever After

I Was Staring To Learn How To Forget The Things That Made Me Sad. It Was Like A Charm You Followed Step-by-step, Collecting And Blending The Ingredients, Placing Everything In Its Proper Place, Reciting The Incantation. It Was The Magic Of Forgetting.

Maybe He Was Real. Maybe I'd Made Him Up. Either Way, He Didn't Think I Needed Him Anymore. Maybe He Was Right.

Love Is The Only Thing We Have To Save Us

She Pushed The Gardener Away And Called For Them. In Her Sleep She Had Seen Love. It Was Poisoning. It Was Possessing. Devouring. Or It Was Seven Pairs Of Boots Climbing Up The Stairs To Find Her.

In Mexico People Wear Hummingbird Amulets Around Their Necks To Show They Are Searching For Love. Here People Pretend That They Aren’t. Searching.

Tinys Do Not Deserve Safety. If They Are To Prove Themselves, They Must Suffer And Die Or Suffer And Survive.

She Had Changed Him. The Ice Was In His Eyes And In His Heart, Like He Had Predicted With That Song, But Now They Were Deep Embedded There, All The Pain Of The World. Not Pain To Make You Feel For Somebody Else But Pain To Make You Stop Feeling.

Same Old Boring Boring Story America Can’t Stop Telling Itself. What Is This Sicko Fascination? Every Book And Movie Practically Has To Have A Little, Right? But Why Do You Think All Those Runaways Are On The Streets Tearing Up Their Veins With Junk And Selling Themselves So They Can Sleep In The Gutter? What Do You Think The Alternative Was At Home?

I Stand Here Waiting. To Disappear Or Sing.

Write With Abandon And No Constraints For First Draft. Cut Brutally And Save In Separate Files On Second Draft. Add Conflict; Don't Be Afraid To Make Your Characters Suffer. Read What You Love. Write What You Love. Love.

The Most Beautiful People Are The Ones That Don't Look Like One Race Or Even One Sex.

I'll Be Inside The One Who Holds You. And Then I Won't Be.

I Try To See The Dark And Light In Everything. This Is My Way Of Comforting Myself When I Am Dealing With Those Emotions.

Any Love That Is Love Is Right.

Let's Not Be Afraid Of Anything That Can't Really Hurt Us.

It's Important To Tell Your Story. It's Important To Listen.

Once Upon A Time . . . What Time Are We Upon And Where Do I Belong?

Once Upon A Time

The Girl In The Mirror Wasn't Who I Wanted To Be And Her Life Wasn't The One I Wanted To Have.

Love Can Transform Us. It Can Be A Healing Force Or A Disaster, A Tidal Wave, A Tornado. It Can Burn And Scar Us Or Heal Our Scars. It Can Be The Ghost That Haunts Us, Or The Best Friend Who Reads Our Every Thought. Love May Arrive Like An Angel Of Mercy, A Fairy With Raven Wings Or A Hairy Beast That Will Tear Us Apart Limb From Limb, Kill And Savor Us Down To The Bones.

I Didn't Tell Him That What I Was Most Scared Of, Most Haunted By, Was Something I Didn't Understand And Could Never Run Away From. It Was Myself.

Writing Is Literally Transformative. When We Read, We Are Changed. When We Write, We Are Changed. It's Neurological. To Me, This Is A Kind Of Magic.

No Matter Where I Am, I Am Always Loving You.

Metaphors Are An Interesting Example Of Creating Magic In Prose.

Sometimes I Wanted To Peel Away All Of My Skin And Find A Different Me Underneath.

Under The Pink Harlequin Sunglasses Strawberry Dangling Charms, And Sugar-frosted Eyeshadow She Was Really Almost Beautiful.

Besides, Secretly, Without Knowing It Herself, She Had Been Waiting For A Beast To Go To.

Relieved Because What I Dreaded Most In The Whole World Was Going To Happen And I Wouldn’t Have To Live With It Anymore—the Fear. There Is The Relief Of Finally Not Being Alone And The Relief Of Being Alone When No One Can Take Anything Away From You. Here She Was, My Beautiful Fear. Shiny As Crystal Lace Frost.

It Was Like When We Were Little Kids And We Played Games On The Ivy-covered Hillside In The Backyard. We Were Warriors And Wizards And Angels And High Elves And That Was Our Reality. If Someone Said, Isn’t It Cute, Look At Them Playing, We Would Have Smiled Back, Humoring Them, But It Wasn’t Playing. It Was Transformation. It Was Our Own World. Our Own Rules.

Morning. Strawberry Sky Dusted With White Winter Powder Sugar Sun. And Nobody To Munch On It With

Under The Ground Seep The Toxins Of The Population That Lives Above. If You Have To, You Will Eat Roots And Earthworms. It Is Always Night. Candles Burn In Lanterns Made From Tin Cans. When It Is Nighttime Up Above, You Can Crawl Out, But Only For A Little While. You Feel Ashamed Of Your Matted Hair, Your Torn Clothes, The Dirt On Your Face. Who Would Want To Speak To You? They Are All Shiny And Pretty. They Have Parents And House With Gardens. What Do You Have? The Earth. Whole Handfuls Of It. The Lizard People With Their Slit Eyes And Scaly Skin. Your Loneliness. Your Longing.

Our Stories Can Set Us Free. When We Set Them Free.

My Heart Is A Teacup With Hairline Cracks. I Feel Like I Have To Walk Real Carefully So It Won't Get Shaken And Just All Shatter And Break.

Dear Angel Juan, You Used To Guard My Sleep Like A Panther Biting Back My Pain With The Edge Of Your Teeth. You Carried Me Into The Dark Dream Jungle, Loping Past The Hungry Vines, Crossing The Shiny Fish-scale River. We Left My Tears Behind In A Chiming Silver Pool. We Left My Sorrow In The Muddy Hollows. When I Woke Up You Were Next To Me, Damp And Matted, Your Eyes Hazy, Trying To Remember The Way I Clung To You, How Far Down We Went. Was The Journey Too Far, Angel Juan? Did We Go Too Far?

You Always Fed Strays And Bent Down To Talk To The Dogs You Met On The Street, Looking Straight Into Their Eyes As If They Were Old Friends. (maybe They Are, You Said. From Another Life.) You Liked To Go To The Pound And Look At Them. You Tried To Send Them Messages Of Comfort. I Couldn’t Go Because I Started Crying The One Time I Tried. All Those Eyes And The Barks Like Sobs.

Ugster Vinyl Pumps, Partridge Family Records, Plastic Daisy Jewelry, Old Postcards. . . . It's A Magpie Christmas Market.

Each Of Us Has A Family Tree Full Of Stories Inside Of Us, Dirk Thought. Each Of Us Has A Story Blossoming Out Of Us.

We No Longer Believe In Fairy Tales. But We Will Learn To Believe In Monsters

L.a. Kills People.' Jacaranda Said. 'you're Lucky You're Leaving. You'll Be Able To Write.' She Looked Paler, Going Through Another Depression, Smoking In Bed In Her Lilac Room. The Walls Were The Color Of Her Veins. She Was Getting Too Thin, Even For The Modeling. . .jacaranda Died Last Winter When The Flowering Trees Were Bare. You Couldn't Even Tell Which Ones Once Cried The Purple Blossoms She Named Herself After.

Pain Can Give You Sight Or Make You Blind.

Every Girl Is A Goddess.

Think Of Your Pain Like A Bunch Of Red Roses, A Beautiful Thorn Necklace. Everyone Has One.

She Was No Longer A Slow Dreamer Watching The Flowers Grow. She Was A Warrior Now. Warriors Need Something To Fight For Though, Beside Their Lives, Because Otherwise Their Lives Will Not Be Worth It.

I Believe We Recover From Loss By Facing The Loss, Grieving, Going Deep Inside Ourselves (hopefully With A Guide) And Re-emerging To Live And Love Again.

There’s Nowhere To Escape,” Dobey Said, Jamming His Hands Into His Pockets And Staring Into The Valley. That’s Not True, Baby,” Said Desiree. She Took His Hands And Pulled Him To Her, Wrapping Her Legs Around His Torso. She Could Feel The Sobs In Both Of Them, But Quiet, Silenced By The Kiss. They Could Escape Inside Each Other.

Maybe Her Own Tears Were The Poison That Made Her Grow.

I Wrote Poetry From The Time I Could Write. That Was The Only Way I Could Begin To Express Who I Was But The Poems Didn't Make Sense To My Teachers. They Didn't Rhyme. They Were About The Wind Sounds, The Planets' Motions, Never About Who I Was Or How I Felt. I Didn't Think I Felt Anything. I Was This Mind More Than A Body Or A Heart. My Mind Photographing The Stars, Hearing The Wind.

When They First Kiss, There On The Beach, They Will Kneel At The Edge Of The Pacific And Say A Prayer Of Thanks, Sending All The Stories Of Love Inside Them Out In A Fleet Of Bottles All Across The Oceans Of The World.

I Love Sylvia Plath And Anne Sexton. I Also Love More Cerebral Poets Like H.d. And Emily Dickinson. My Parents Subscribed To A Monthly Poetry Periodical, And As A Teenager I Was Introduced To Denise Levertov, Who Was An Influence.

She Went Out In The City With Its Lights Like A Radioactive Phosphorescence, Wandered Through Galleries Where The High-priced Art On The Walls Was The Same As The Graffiti Scrawled Outside By Taggers Who Were Arrested Or Killed For It, Went To Parties In Hotel Rooms Where White-skinned, Lingerie-clad Rock Stars Had Been Staying The Night Their Husbands Shot Themselves In The Head, Listened To Music In Nightclubs Where Stunning Boyish Actors Had Od'd On The Pavement.

If Death Is Your Father, You Don't Ever Have To Worry About What Part Of His Body The Disease Will Strike Next. If Death Is Your Lover, You Don't Have To Be Afraid That He Will Ever Leave You.

Everything Was Chocolate Ice Cream And Kisses And Wind.

Chocolate Ice Cream

I Dreamed You Were Standing In This Dark Place And You Touched These Dead Flowers And They Lit Up Like They Were Electric Or Something. Electric Lilies. Lighting Up The Valley.

You Are My Marilyn. You Are My Lake Full Of Fishes. You Are My Sky Set, My 'hollywood In Miniature,' My Pink Cadillac, My Highway, My Martini, The Stage For My Heart To Rock And Roll On, The Screen Where My Movies Light Up.

I Think Depression Creates In Me An Urgent Need To Write, But I Also Believe That Daily Stress, And Even The Positive Stress Of Intense Happiness, Can Compel Me To Express Myself Through The Written Word.

If You Want To Find The Trail, If You Want To Find Yourself, You Must Explore Your Dreams Alone. You Must Grow At A Slow Pace In A Dark Cocoon Of Loneliness So You Can Fly Like Wind, Like Wings, When You Awaken.

You Turned Your Head To Look At Me. Your Eyes Looked So Big In Your Face, So Mysterious — Wide And Flickering Like A Butterfly-wing Mask. When You Saw Me The Wails Turned To Sobs, And Then Just Quieter Heaves Of Your Body. I Held Out My Finger Through The Bars. Then You Reached Out And Curled Your Fingers Around Mine, So Tight. I Knew You Recognized Me. That Was The First Time I Knew I Had A Heart Inside My Body.

Maybe I Would Become A Mermaid... I Would Live In The Swirling Blue-green Currents, Doing Exotic Underwater Dances For The Fish, Kissed By Sea Anemones, Caressed By Seaweed Shawls. I Would Have A Doliphin Friend. He Would Have Merry Eyes And Thick Flesh Of A God. My Fingernails Would Be Tiny Shells And My Skin Would Be Like Jade With Light Shining Through It I Would Never Have To Come Back Up

Love Is The Worst Earthquake There Is. Can Crush You To The Thickness Of Your Bones. Love Can Be Like Cancer Sometimes. Terminal. It Can Make You Vomit. It Can Make You Want To Cut It Out. It Can Take You Over Against Your Will.

It's Not That I Literally Think I'm A Fearie. It's Just That I Feel So Different From Most People. And This Idea Of A Race Living Underground In Caverns, Spending All Their Days Dancing And Playing The Fiddle And Eating Flowers And Reciting Poetry And Sharing Their Dreams, That To Me Sounds Much More Real Than The Way People Live In This World, Hating And Fighting And Wanting And Hurting.

Flowers Are Reincarnation. They Come Out Of The Earth Of Our Ashes. Nothing Else Looks So Soul-like.

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Mary-Louise Parker

Mariska Hargitay

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