Tag Archives: character

One Of Them (Cass & Effect)

I see it in her eyes, that girl is lost
But Cassie if you stay with me, I’ll never stop
Cassie’s been waiting too long
The drug in her veins is too strong
She fell in love with the medicine she’s on
Yeah in a matter of minutes her mind’s gone…

~*~

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

You don’t dance in your dress and do ballet twirls

You dye your hair green and wear orange shoes

You’ve got nothing to live for and everything to lose

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

You don’t wish for princes or a dumb fairy tale world

You cut off dragon heads with your silver blade

And the blood is drank in a midnight pub promenade

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

They spill acid on their tongue until their vision curls

You only swallow tablets to avoid feeling dizzy

When your heart feels wrong and your brain feels frisky

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

They’ve got their life together, kiss and tell like bores

Picking out the sweetest bees and tasting the sweetest honey

Oh, aren’t you sick of that bitter mouthwash, honestly?

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

You don’t need saving from another magical curse

They call you cynical, but being realistic’s not a crime

And those bedless boys don’t leave you tongue-tied

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

You got a pistol for a lipstick and a deadshot hearse

You’re never available, you’re never there for the asking

You scare them all off ‘cause you’re “too interesting”

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

Your fingers are broken, but the last time makes the first

How normal, how nice, just a suburban heist in pink stunning

You’ll be the cat burglar melting down faux promise rings

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

While they sob about their stories, you scream at yours

Pluck at the metal strings ‘till your calloused fingers tear

You’ve got a pain in your voice that no one wants to hear

.

Cassie you’re not like the other girls

You don’t get yourself right, wear those scars for the worse

Your mouth’s twisted in a sneer, you’re a bitch in cold dressing

You fight without the bruises and being alone is kind of your thing

.

Cassie you’re not like, and you’ll never be like the other girls

Your mama raised you like that, but hell ‘cause it didn’t do you any good

You’re not stupid and lovely and crazy and flowery like those other girls

But Cassie, don’t you ever wish sometimes that you don’t feel so jealous?

~*~

She left a dent in my heart as she drove
With her car into my life, though
She tilt her head to the side, what a night, yeah
And Cassie, don’t you overdose.

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Stargirl and the Rocket Lights

You are a curiosity, or a mental case, as some called it rather crudely and dismissively, and you knew everyone noticed. But they didn’t care, and neither should you. One day, you impulsively proclaimed, whilst balancing on the top of a redwood tree branch, that disappearing acts never got old, so you said goodbye to your squirrel friend, clambered down the tree hurriedly, and dashed home. You burst into your room with a loud door slam, gathered up your paraphernalia, grabbed your half-full rucksack dotted with strange pins and souvenir keychains, which was patiently waiting by your ramshackle oakwood cabinet, and began haphazardly shoving various motley things inside. Once you were finished cleaning up and made even more of a mess in the process, you quickly plastered a teddy bear print band-aid on your cheek from where the rough wood accidentally scratched and left a thin red mark, clumsily tied your DIY pinstriped Keds’ purple and green shoelaces, stretched out—as if competing in a marathon—on an abandoned Twister board on your carpeted floor, and finally you left the house, chasing your dissolution without so much as a backward glance. The first part was easy. The next part was easier.

The nightwalking horizon was tinted virtually the same colour as your ripped stonewashed denim overalls, the reticulated stars were in implausible full burst and clearly visible, a myriad riot like the splattered black inkstains on your bohemian tie-dyed shirt, and the moon was shaded exactly and uncannily like your ivory silk flower leggings, the number of the craters perfectly aligned with the number of the frayed holes by your knees, the ones you tore yourself with zigzag safety scissors. The dreamy air tasted faintly like bubblegum ice cream, and the astral bodies were softly clicking into their designated places, a marvellous tableaux of God’s fanciful ethereal jigsaw puzzle. Nothing more was to be prepared; all you had to do was pass against the serendipitous turn of time. That particular task in itself was no difficult feat for your whimsical affinity. The other factor to consider was your destination. Invariably, it didn’t matter which bus you got on, if you were even waiting for a bus at all, for you have an overpowering ominous sensation within your heart that you’ll always inevitably end up on a wayward road, diverging on the intersection to nowhere. And in your own quote unquote words, as that one cliché that nobody says goes, signal for the universe and the galaxy will come.

Your vintage analogue Hello Kitty clock ticked sluggishly second by second, and the small candy floss pink lights by the side came to life and began to glow fervently as the hands struck exactly 8 PM. You had a lot of time to spend thereon and then, sitting prim and taciturn on the graffitied wooden bench, waiting for the longest forever. You intertwined scarlet camellias on your plaited geranium hair and held it in place with a gargantuan leopard-print scrunchie. You tapped your hands, plucked a few sweet and sour notes on your marmalade-orange ukulele, and hummed a Joy Division song melodically, and you laughed quietly when you flubbed the chorus with a splintered squeak. You counted the cheap glittery stars you stuck on your plastic journal even though you knew the number by heart, some microscopic yellow speckles transferring to your skin as you absentmindedly peeled one at the side with a polkadotted fingernail. You scribbled lines of guitar keys, and doodled literal intricate keys without paired locks, onto the slightly-torn cover page with a blueblooded space pen, and used the same pen to trace the wiry butterfly outline on your right ankle. You observed with childish wonder and twinkling heterochromatic dandelion eyes as prams, automobiles, taxis, and tallyho’s passed by you in an amicable whirlwind breeze and friendly engine revving. There were a billion tangible stars in this side of the dimension, just a little more than the glamorous stars shining on your notebook, and you can pluck each and every single one off their orbit. You had a lot of fun little preoccupations, and the time on your hands seemed almost eternal.

Time was up. When it seemed like the aberrant clocks hitched their breaths and you’ve done a thousand and one tasks to fill such a lacuna, finally, Hello Kitty’s spinning hour hand gingerly moved into its designated place. The moment it touched the notch and exactly as the pink lights began their little show, you tilted your chin until it was higher than your freckled button nose, and stared enthusiastically at the empty tranquil sky. As if on cue, your implausible carpool vehicle hurtled imperceptibly from beneath the atmosphere, burning the crepuscular firmament’s concrete shadows at light-year speed, and arrived with a dissuaded thump, to take you away from such a bland and diluted planet. Tucking a stray highlighted neon hair back in your pierced and heavily-ornamented ears, you cautiously replaced the overflowing tatterdemalion notebook back in your bag, bounced on your heels and stood up with lilting sneakered toes, and ceremoniously stepped into that rocketship invention calmly, without any nuance of surprise or astonishment. It seemed you would simply walk straight and be swallowed whole by the blinding flash, but at the last moment, you turned back at the dominating darkness and sent a quaint, fragile, almost palpable air-kiss flying from your painted ruby lips and painted dainty fingers onto the open space. The entire population of the world must have felt a faint zephyr graze their cheek softly at that very moment, but they were too naïve to even bother with noticing it. Yet you said your polite goodbyes, so it didn’t matter. You grandiosely waved a final farewell, the tattooed patterns on your arms spinning and dancing with pastel motion, and you smiled lazily, quite cryptically, as the metallic-gold doors closed in dénouement with a sibilant hiss and a burst of flourishing steam. The metaphysical vessel roared as it propelled into ignition again, shooting up into the sky immediately and billowing into evanescence out of peripheral view, and you were gone with it. Your wish was granted, and you permanently left behind the life you always tolerated with distaste, into a more interesting place with a better yesterday, and no one cared…except for one.

Stargirl, when you ran away and stole the cornflower moon with you from the midnight sky to elope, did you think no one would be interested? When you vanished and charmingly serenaded the sun into a retrograde motion, did you think no one would find out? Did you ever think, for a single heartbeat, that when your star, hiding in plan sight among millions of the other specks in the star-freckled sky, was quietly extinguished, I wouldn’t even notice?

I out of all people would hate to admit such a fact, but for once in your extraordinary yet ephemeral existence, Stargirl, you were wrong.

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Filed under Prose

Hurt

“Great men are forged in fire. It is the privilege of lesser men to light the flame.”

~*~

Dear Mr. Warrior

The war is over

An adventure

Of three men

Quite clever

In a quest for

Their home to

Be the saviour

You stood guard

To battle though

You can’t forget

You still forgive

With satisfying

Regenerations

And an ending

Of a marvellous

Peaceful painting.

.

Dear Mr. Ollivander

The battle is over

You’ve done well

To guide Mr. Potter

Curious young man

He was entranced

With good reason

With your wands

So finely created

For the final stand

Of evil reincarnated

And thus fell darkness

Saving the wizard world

From being defenceless.

.

Dear Mr. John Hurt, sire

You shall hurt no longer

This legacy you’ve left

Has never been stronger

With your entertainment

And your elegant talents

A prolific skill and roster

Films of sheer diversity

Your characters strange

In their own set stages

Faces finely well played

Performance for the ages

My dear Mr. Hurt, good sir

Your life has been a rose

It’s time to take the final call

Upstairs, may you peacefully repose.

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry