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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.

-Francesca Lia Block

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You Turned Your Head

Francesca Lia Block

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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.

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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.

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

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

What Happens To The Rest Of Something When You Smash Its Heart?

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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War Is Being Reminded That You Are Completely At The Mercy Of Death At Every Moment, Without The Illusion That You Are Not. Without The Distractions That Make Life Worth Living.

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.

What Shall We Do, All Of Us? All Of Us Oassionate Girls Who Fear Crushing The Boys We Love With Our Mouths Like Caverns Of Teeth, Our Mushrooming Brains, Our Watermelon Hearts?

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?

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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All The Things That Girls Feel They Are Not When They Fear That If They Become, If They Are, They Will No Longer Be Loved By The Sisters Whose Hearts They Have Not Meant To Break. And Besides, If The Sisters Are Gone And Only The Beloved Remains With His Dense Curls And His Lips, How Safe Are You Then? You Have To Have Him Or You Will Die If The Sisters Are Gone With Their Listening Ears And Their Feet To Rub And Their Bodies To Dress And Their Shared Loneliness.

You Can't Doubt So Much, Psyche

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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.

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

Welcome Beauty, Banish Fear.

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.

Any Love That Is Love Is Right.

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.

Pain Can Give You Sight Or Make You Blind.

I Think That Poetry Is Perfect For Women Raising Children, With Just Bits Of Time And Such Need To Connect To Other Women Out Of The Isolation Of Motherhood.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

I Will Not Eat Cakes Or Cookies Or Food. I Will Be Thin, Thin, Pure. I Will Be Pure And Empty. Weight Dropping Off. Ninety-nine... Ninety-five... Ninety-two... Ninety. Just One More To Eighty-nine. Where Does It Go? Where In The Universe Does It Go?

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

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.

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.

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

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.

Pain Didn't Ever Really Stop, He Thought; It Just Changed Forms.

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.

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

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

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

Once Upon A Time

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

What Sexual Preference Do You Hope She Has?” “happiness.” Isnt That Cool?

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.

Maybe Any Love We Ever Have Is An Angel In Whatever Form.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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George Hickenlooper

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