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the walls of my childhood bedroom
mopped up all my tears like a mouthless mother,
silent and seeping. a sin eater.

she welcomes me back
with open-mouthed kisses leaking
my own fermented poison.
the fingertips up and down my back are
razor sharp.

-
in the back of a concrete building i find the place
where i wrote, in sharpie, ‘TIFFANY WAS HERE!’
for the first time.

that desperate need to exist never really left me.

lying on my back,
her tongue traces the bottom row of my teeth,
the crooked front two
a harsh gate.

-
(one by one, collapsing)
balloons filled with breath that could have
saved someone once.

“Ya big clout! Look what you’ve done! Ya idiot!” I shouted, shoving him away from my cot.
The others should’ve laughed at my attempts; after all, I was one 5’2″ 100lbs girl against one Dedrik, who had at least 80lbs and a foot on me on me.
And yet I didn’t hear a sound.
If I had been any other little girl, it would have been hysterical.
But I wasn’t any other little girl.
I was ME.
And Dedrik all but fled from my wrath.

“You’re already on wafer thin ice with the school, Tara.” she huffed, running a hand through her rapidly greying hair. “What am I going to DO with you?”
“You don’t have to do ANYTHING with me.” she snarled, rising from the chair and marching towards the door. “Just send me back. You’ll be better off; an’ it’s not like I’m more to you than a fuckin’ check anyway.” she snapped before stepping outside and slamming the door closed behind her.

She was perfect. The only one at the casting with sensible hair. Not the pink or electric blue or lime green that many now wear in order to “express their individuality”. Didn’t they realise it simply made them all the same.

“Step in here, please.”
We’ve all read at least one story of a young actor’s choice to face the terrifying faces of those who are paid to judge.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
About how they stood on the mark and, always, always, took a deep breath, and their voice only stopped shaking on the last line.
“We’ll let you know.”
We’ve heard they didn’t get the part, and now they grin and gloat about those fools, behind the cover of their starring role.
“How’d you do?”
Of course, at that moment they feel as though the act of living is one that needs reimbursement, for the failure it proved to be.
“What else am I gonna do?”
We’ve heard the stories, haven’t we?

“Send the first one in, Dan.” he says, sitting back in his chair.
Dan moves to the door, spiel ready. “Casting call number one: reading for the part of Abigail Tanner. Who’s first?”
The first girl is terrible, elocution all over the place. The second is worse, somehow. The seventh has him gritting his teeth.
By the time the tenth enters he’s already burned out for the day.
“Hi, I’m, uh, number ten?” her tone is even, bright but not overly so; any other day, he’d be impressed.
“Name?” he asks, pen primed.
She thinks he hears her sigh. “Summer Rayne.”
He looks up, cocking a brow in disbelief. Wordlessly, she pulls out her license and hands it to him for his inspection. He cracks a smile as he returns it to her and she shrugs. “My parents were hippies.” she explains, the even tone of her voice suggesting that she’s had to explain her nomenclature more than once.

Fling
Swish
And hit
I’m in the mood for melodies
Dancing around real campfires, in crackling woods
With tambourines and bells to make it better
Waking up to swordfights, clashing in practice
Knowing- yes, that’s it, I’d like to know
That our happiness is justified, and we’re going to win

I let lapping waters be my lullaby.

Sing me your songs, and sign me your triplicates
Tell me why I’m happy, or just let it be
No words
No shocks of angry hair
Just smooth, smooth, over wishes and dreams
A scattered stain glass look
And fly on the Capricorn
Lullabies cleaning the sky