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January 30, 2008
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remember the year we skipped your birthday?

you watched the hands and legs on the face of the clock and tried to make sense of the clown's noses, prong teeth and drooling drips of time, layered on the rims of your auburn hair and spilling down onto the contours of your whipped and beaten eyes like chocolate milk. we dyed your hair that day, purple, spilled wine and mauve egg yolk, and we told you that you didn't have to age if you didn't want to, we told you that the ten-second rule applied to things like beauty and innocence, and we told you that you could be a child until peter pan came for you and you didn't have to watch the clock anymore, just the sleeve of night sky, riddled with stars.

but when we told you these things we were constructing mental memorials, maybe somewhere on the mantle where strangers could come in and leave gentle commentary about how beautiful you were when your hair was long and how big your grassy eyes were, like they were leaving presents under a tree that had already wilted, trying to detract from the obvious browns and grays of the thing. in our heads, we had images of sitting on the toilet seat with the lights and vent on, sobbing into palms that couldn't bear our face, hands like twisted versions of the roots of trees, like we could blossom something, and it was beautiful and artistic and painful. in our minds, we were already building you towers, houses, naming small fluffy children of nature after you, watching clouds that were shaped like your ears, pointing out donuts that were the same color as your complexion -- because in our heads, you were already gone.

and that year we didn't ask you what friends you wanted at your party, because we knew you didn't have any, because you knew you would smile like a good kid and make up a name, "well maybe jeannie and sheryl and christopher," but then you'd turn and look out the car window and bite your lips with all the other names you could've come up with, in your head is spinning the faces of classmates whose backs you watch, trying to form jigsaw puzzles out of their flesh. you dream of romances, of subtle kisses shared between closed mouths and sewn-fabric hearts that beat outside your nerves, and in all of these situations, compliments and thumbnails, there is a gentle prelude of casualness, there is a beautiful feeling of solitude, even as you watch your pseudo-lover snuggle in closer, near the figment that is the crook of your arm. no, we didn't want to acknowledge just how alone you are, kid.

because in our heads, we playing dirges, in our heads we were dreaming of the silver days when we stick apples in your mouth and watch the casket go under and silently curse ourselves for all the added romanticisms we didn't add into your speeches, all the memories we didn't cover, all of the buried touches and mournful gazes we may have exchanged that we couldn't have documented with mere words. instead we crotched situations in which we were forced to cry for fear that the plants might leech up and grab us by the ankles if we didn't break.

these aren't lies, kid, these aren't. when peter pan comes for you, we will never stop thinking about you, we will build you towers suitable of princesses and memorials to hide your young flaws, your forgivable immaturity, your undisguised filth.

we said you didn't have to have your birthday, kid, so we colored your hair and went home and pretended we were crazy and spontaneous, pretended we spoke in color and pretended that we dreamed in a color other than gray, pretended that being young forever was a place that you could be physically.

but your birthday still happened, kid, and you aged. and when the funeral did come, we stopped and wondered where we went wrong, if we dyed it the wrong color or if peter pan is by your window now, cursing himself for being twenty years too late.

our mantle place is bare.
"oh, oh we're better off now,"
it's the only thing left said meant for you.

we'll make these promises,
we'll make these promises;
erase, replace--
we'll make more promises,
we'll wait for promises;
erase, replace.

oh, no, don't talk about it,
no, please, don't talk about it!
no, please, don't think about it,
oh, please, don't think about it--
it goes away.


i'm going through hell trying to write this other poem -- written it once but my computer ate it and didn't give it back, and i've tried to write it three times more, but it keeps coming out wrong.

so i spat this out, in the hopes the other one will.. coax itself out of its hiding place somewhere in the space of my brain. i will tell batman he has to find another batcave.


btw -- i'm in love with the new foo fighters album.:heart: "stranger things have happened" is my favorite.

word count: 703
listening to: erase/replace - foo fighters
(c) LeeAnn - 2008
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:icondamaskangel:
damaskangel Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2008  Hobbyist General Artist
Makes one wonder.So much depth.
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:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2008
thank you for reading!
Reply
:icondamaskangel:
damaskangel Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2008  Hobbyist General Artist
You are welcome hun
Reply
:icondistantwings:
DistantWings Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
this is so beautiful and sad
i love how it still carries your style but in a different way
this is... softer, i think, than some of your other pieces.
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
softer? i think that's interesting! is my writing usually harder or carries more.. difficulty?
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:icondistantwings:
DistantWings Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
I would say more intense, but that's not true since this piece is every bit as intense. So, um... I'm not sure how to say it. Faster, maybe? Maybe more bitter or sharp.
I'm getting a sadder tone from this, a bit more regretful rather than angry.
Not sure if that's quite the right way to say it, though. Sorry?
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
i think i know what you're saying. this is written more as a participant who is.. reminiscing, whereas most of my pieces are usually observers, or people with more fear and anger.
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:icondistantwings:
DistantWings Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
Um... Close enough. xD;
To put it as an analogy, this is more like slopes than angles.
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:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
..okay, i think that makes sense.
Reply
:icondistantwings:
DistantWings Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
I'll let you know if I find a better way of explaining it xD;;
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:icon1337m457312:
1337M457312 Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
:hug: beautiful
made me think
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2008
thank you! :)
Reply
:iconrchelsea2005:
rchelsea2005 Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
Oh how I love you for spelling it "gray" not "grey". For some odd reason I've always loved the first spelling.

And oh how I love you for this <3
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2008
me too! i don't know why grey bothers me. it's the uk version, i think. gray. gray. gray.

and thank you:heart:
Reply
:iconrchelsea2005:
rchelsea2005 Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
Woah, and I'm an idiot. I meant the other way around XD oh gawd. I like spelling it "grey" This is what happens when you comment at 3 in the morning. *headdesk/facepalm* Agree to disagree?

But it's still amazing.
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2008
oh haha. it's okay. ;)
Reply
:iconbblk:
bblk Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
How old did you write her to be?

I'm really proud of you! If that means anything. Your pieces have been so different and so much more personal lately.

This is just beautiful. :heart:

I like all of your metaphors and similes. :hug:

What inspired you to write this in the first place?
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
which "her"? you mean the character narrating, or the character who is addressed - the "you"?

thank you:heart:

..not much xD just trying to work through whatever was in my head to get to this other poem i've been trying to write, and this.. came out.
Reply
:iconbblk:
bblk Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
I meant the character who is being spoken about. But how old is the person telling it?

:glomp:
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:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
i imagined the person maybe somewhere in the late twenties or early thirties. i'm not entirely sure who's narrating -- i was thinking either parents or very, very good friends. i decided to leave it up to the reader.
Reply
:iconcries-of-the-past:
cries-of-the-past Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2008
truth be told, this mixed with the other story you wrote made me cry.
It's brutal, and I love it for that. You have wonderful skill.
Reply
:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
which other story? ..i think all the recent ones i've written were emotional xD

thank you so much.:heart:
Reply
:iconcries-of-the-past:
cries-of-the-past Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
the last one you wrote, besides this one. The Nature of Words, I think
haha, sorry, I should have been more clear :)
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:iconlivingcomforteagle:
livingcomforteagle Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2008
ahhh, the jesus one ;)
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