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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.

-Francesca Lia Block

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She Had Changed Him.

Francesca Lia Block

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Any Love That Is Love Is Right.

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.

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

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.

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.

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 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.

My Mother Said, "kiss Him, Darling, It's Easy So Natural" And I Thought To Myself, Not With Lips Of Stone, Dear Mother, Not With Lips Of Stone

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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.

But Be Careful; Sand Is Already Broken But Glass Breaks. The Shoes Are For Dancing, Not Running Away.

Everything Was Chocolate Ice Cream And Kisses And Wind.

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

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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.

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.

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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 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.

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.

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

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

But Death Is Stronger Than That And When You Cover Your Eyes You Are The One Who Can't See The Dark. The Dark Still Sees You.

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 Have To Make Your Own Family, Your Own Life.

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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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

Writing Is Very Cathartic For Me. As A Teacher, I Hear Many Students Say That Writing Can Be Painful And Exhausting. It Can Be, But Ultimately I Believe That If You Push Through, The Process Is Healing And Exhilarating.

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

You Make Me Feel

Love Is A Dangerous Angel.

Every Girl Is A Goddess.

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.

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

Happily Ever After

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.

It's Scary To Become A Woman In This World. We Have To Understand That Some Of The Messages We Get, Messages That We Are Not Enough, Are There To Keep Our Power In Check. We Can't Buy Into These Messages.

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

Unrequited Love

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.

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.

In Order To Have Bliss You Have To Be Able To Accept All The Parts Of The Other, All The Wildness And The Darkness. You Have To Be Able To Hold On.

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

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

I Stand Here Waiting. To Disappear Or Sing.

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

Sometimes She Has Imagined What It Would Be Like To Fly, To Live In The River, To Run Like A Horse. She Has Dreamed Of That Freedom, That Power, And Fears The Wildness In Herself That Wants To Live As Beasts Live, Moved Purely By Need And Desire. She Has Felt Torn Between The Heat Of Her Limbs And The Thoughts In Her Mind Telling Her To Be Careful And Good And Always Calm. Don't Scream Or Cry, Don't Run To Him And Throw Yourself At His Feet, Pleading For Him To Take You In His Arms, Don't Strip Off Your Clothes And Run Naked To The Water, Wild With Wanting.

Love Is The Only Thing We Have To Save Us

I Am Constantly Thinking Ahead To What I Want To Write About In The Future, And When I'm Done With One Project, I Give Myself A Little Time And Then Start The Next One.

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.

Welcome Beauty, Banish Fear.

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

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.

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

Sometimes She Wore Levi's With White-suede Fringe Sewn Down The Legs And A Feathered Indian Headdress, Sometimes Old Fifties' Taffeta Dresses Covered With Poetry Written In Glitter, Or Dresses Made Of Kids' Sheets Printed With Pink Piglets Or Disney Characters.

Beauty Loved Him More Than Anything, Her Beast Boy, But, Secretly, Sometimes, She Wished He Would Have Remained A Beast.

Find The Goddess Inside Yourself Instead Of Looking For The God In Someone Else.

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

She Began To Feel Like The Plastic Doll She Had Been Named After, Without Even A Hole Where Her Mouth Was Supposed To Be.

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

Witch Baby Wanted To Ask Ping How To Find Her Jah-love Angel. She Knew Raphael Was Not Him, Even Though Raphael Had The Right Eyes And Smile And Name. She Knew How He Looked--the Angel In Her Dream--but She Didn't Know How To Find Him. Should She Roller-skate Through The Streets In The Evenings When The Streetlights Flicker On? Should She Stow Away To Jamaica On A Cruise Ship And Search For Him In The Rain Forests And Along The Beaches? Would He Come To Her? Was He Waiting, Dreaming Of Her In The Same Way She Waited And Dreamed?

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

Everything Is An Illusion; That Is The Whole Thing About It - Illusion, Immitation, A Mirage. It Makes Me Too Sad. Its Having Like A Good Dream, You Know You Are Going To Wake Up.

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?

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

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.

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.

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

You Can't Doubt So Much, Psyche

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

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

He Said, You're So Tiny, Like A Doll, You Look Like You Might Break. I Wanted Him To Break Me. Part Of Me Did.

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.

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 Eyelashes Brushed Like They Would Weave Together By Themselves, Turning Us Into One Wild Thing. I Say, “i Think I Missed You Before I Met You Even.

Choose To Believe In Your Own Myth Your Own Glamour Your Own Spell A Young Woman Who Does This (even If She Is Just Pretending) Has Everything.

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

Just Like Any Woman,...we Weave Our Stories Out Of Our Bodies. Some Of Us Through Our Children, Or Our Art; Some Do It Just By Living. It's All The Same.

At First We Raced Through Space, Like Shadows And Light; Her Rants, My Raves; Her Dark Hair, My Blonde; Black Dresses, White. She's A Purple-black African-violet-dark Butterfly And I A White Moth. We Were Two Wild Ponies, Dawn And Midnight, The Wind Electrifying Our Manes And Our Hooves Quaking The City; We Were Photo Negatives Of Each Other, Together Making The Perfect Image Of A Girl.

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

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

...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.

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.

If You Were A Mermaid, You Said, If You Were A Mermaid, I Was The Sea.

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.

The Wishes Might Not Come True The Way You Think They Will, Not Everything Will Be Perfect, But Love Will Come Because It Always Does, Because Why Else Would It Exist And It Will Make Everything Hurt A Little Less. You Just Have To Believe In Yourself.

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

The True Warrior Isn't Immune To Fear. She Fights In Spite Of It.

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