07.13.04 - 4:48 pm
stories and poems fail to tell you that love is this complex.

My future mother-in-law
(who I think is counting down
the days until she can
pressure us into
breeding)
has been harassing
me about choosing
colors

for the wedding and I
am nothing if not frightened
of doing so.

Over and over through
my spinal column and up
through my brain stem:

Here comes
the bride

Here comes
the bride.

Here she comes, but
in my inner eye it's never
me but some other girl
in my body.

Girls who get married
don't go to rock and roll shows
anymore.

Lavender and smothered
and waiting
for the guitar spin and
then the
chord hits and
I'm dancing down the aisle?

I don't think I like that
china pattern, now if you'll excuse
me my head
won't stop spinning.

This isn't me.
This isn't me.

I think raw silk for
the bridesmaids dresses, don't
you think

they'll be lovely.

I'll be lovely for you,
on the day I say goodbye to
who I am, my darling.

I am giving myself up
to become part
of you,
and I'm not
sure I'm right this time.
I've been so wrong before.

Till death rid me of you.

Ashes to ashes and I'll always
be the one who falls
down, so make me yours.


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methinks I may have a slight problem with cold feet. good thing I use writing as therapy. also, shameless self promotion, but check out my new blog at cinematicme.

.drink up baby, look at the stars. // .i'll kiss you again, between the bars.