Not A Dancing Queen (18)

5th September

I change the 7
After 1
To 8

I should feel the shift.

I no longer need to lie my way
To things
I want to see
They say I could say goodbye
To minority

Hello, young woman.

I should feel the shift.

I should feel the shift
But the air's still the same.
My too small world does its daily boring spins
The same walls keep me in
As I wander in my head
And wonder in pen
What I would end up to be.

I mark this day with an X
On a scarred too-pale-for-tropics thigh
I would have preffered a tattoo
And I'm getting older
But still am young
Mother approves and father scowls
But I badly want ink
On my skin
Like I do on paper
Maybe this day would have been more special
Like they say it should be.

(And your very flesh shall be a great poem...)*

They do not see my heart break,
Do not see how much this hurts me
I perfected indifference and shrugs long ago.

Like the year before
And the year before that
I spend this day lonely
Alive -
Alive  hurts me.

I am but their friendly ghost.

Put me on a list
And write my name
Beside yours
Beside his, beside hers
I still do not belong.
I think my soul is made of loose threads
Just miss me when I'm gone,
Call me
Miss Atomic Bomb.*

I would run halls with you
Make laughs echo -
Chat and chew with you
Drown in sips of dew -
Make you fall in love
Break your heart -
You've always known
I come with a warning:

"Here today,
Gone tomorrow.
Blinding sun's ray
Then cold stormy sorrow."
The great disappearing act.

I am but your friendly ghost
To love you
Then haunt you.
And forget me -
My soul will never rest.

This thing
Starting again in this known
Unknown point
Existence is just what it feels like
Once more

And I thought I finally started living.

I am your shredded paper
Try to make out my story
From the words torn apart
As I float into a background
Of the past,
Of the people you used to know.

Will someone ever get a hold of me,
And never let me go?

Maybe this number
Will start the freedom
My body is desperate for

Perhaps it will be the beginning of the countdown
For damaged goods
To spoil

Maybe I'm too much for anyone to take
Even the air cannot keep me
And no light
No year
No age
Can fix me.

But I am older!
And still young.
And rattling inside,
Will anyone even dare try?

The chapter ends...
Almost all still questions
And Perhaps,
Perhaps,
Perhaps

And ink
And blood
Start to dry -
And falter...
And I
Will fade
To the cold
September.


*Walt Whitman
*The Killers