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Maybe One Night I’ll Be Asleep And I’ll Feel A Hand Like A Dove On My Cheekbone And Feel Her Breath Cool Like Peppermints And When I Open My Eyes My Mom Will Be There Like An Angle, Saying In The Softest Voice, When You Are Born It Is Like A Long, Long Dream. Don’t Try To Wake Up. Just Go Along Until It Is Over. Don’t Be Afraid. You May Not Know It All The Time But I Am With You. I Am With You.

-Francesca Lia Block

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Maybe One Night I’ll

Francesca Lia Block

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Maybe One Night I’ll Be Asleep And I’ll Feel A Hand Like A Dove On My Cheekbone And Feel Her Breath Cool Like Peppermints And When I Open My Eyes My Mom Will Be There Like An Angle, Saying In The Softest Voice, When You Are Born It Is Like A Long, Long Dream. Don’t Try To Wake Up. Just Go Along Until It Is Over. Don’t Be Afraid. You May Not Know It All The Time But I Am With You. I Am With You.

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Once Upon A Time

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

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.

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

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

Pianos, Unlike People, Sing When You Give Them Your Every Growl. They Know How To Dive Into The Pit Of Your Stomach And Harmonize With Your Roars When You’ve Split Yourself Open. And When They See You, Guts Shining, Brain Pulsing, Heart Right There Exposed In A Rhythm That Beats Need Need, Need Need, Need Need, Pianos Do Not Run. And So She Plays.

You Have To Make Your Own Family, Your Own Life.

Stories Are Like Genies...they Can Carry Us Into And Though Our Sorrows. Sometimes They Burn, Sometimes They Dance, Sometimes They Weep, Sometimes They Sing. Like Genies, Everyone Has One. Like Genies, Sometimes We Forget That We Do. Our Stories Can Set Us Free...when We Set Them Free.

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

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.

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

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

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.

Here You Go On This Long Long Dream. Don't Even Try To Wake Up. Just Let It Go On Until It Is Over. You Will Learn Many Things. Just Relax And Observe Because There Is Pain And That's It Mostly And You Aren't Going To Be Able To Escape No Matter What. Eventually It Will All Be Over Anyway. Good Luck.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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It Was Always A Relief When She Came Home To Him. Like Water Or Food. Like Music Or That Moment When You Cut Yourself With A Knife And Squeeze The Skin And No Blood Oozes Out.

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.

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.

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

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.

Love Is A Dangerous Angel.

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Sheila Jackson Lee

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