13.

All I see is grey skys on a blue day clouding my plans showering my thoughts

13.

I want to wear a texas tuxedo

For Hannah

Yellow car goes BOOM.

13.

I am a princess of wonder. Black as a crows feathers, hair flows down my back tickling, slow, soft, secretive. Spilling from thoughts, words scribble the air. I have turned and wont come back. The sphere reflects the sunlight, a pale path waits. Blue eyes, black night, new moon.

12.

You can't spend all that time together, do everything you have done, be everything you are without feeling something different.

11.

"ooooo i want you so badly its my bigest wish"

10.

I wake up from a sun-drenched sleep.
Its seeped into my flesh made the muscles hot and dreamy, slow to respond.
Somehow the sun cured me, the warmth leeched further in than my skin. Deeper than my bones, right into my blood, right into my marrow.

Hot pink speckled legs take me; they dance downstairs and a tummy stirs. Wow am I hungry.

I feel so much better; finally woken up, finally alive. The cold hits me, refreshing. A waterfall of air plays with the hairs on my arms, legs, shivers. The fridge light rushes into blinking eyelashes. I grab at things, knowing I can't stay down here too long, the cold brings the unhappiness.

5pm and it's light outside.
Blossoms still glow transparent in an egg shell, blue sky that looks impossibly close, but knowing that if I touch it all my color will fade away because the sky is merely nothingness, too pure for a hand to touch, too searing and empty all at the same time.

You would be proud of me today; I made a peanut butter and bean sprout sandwich. I'll share it with you if you promise you'll come home.

I have to run back the tui only stays in the kowhai for so long before it goes. The tui is the one who teaches us, me. There is no us. You aren't here. Silly me; always forgetting. There's no talk unless the phone rings, its never you though. There's no sound unless the music plays, the TV is on, the computer beeps. It's unnatural.

Nothing can breath.
I can feel my eyes begin to glaze. As the light shifts the plum tree shrinks, you stand below it in red overalls dotted with white specks like the tree is dotted with its spring time blossoms. Reaching you can't get the fruit unless you jump up and grab, but it's squashed now. You laugh at the warm juice staining your hands.

Building forts with sheets. Inside the light glows, greens and yellows as we pretend mums and dads, star rockers and underwater creatures. We pretend we go to the beach in a blue tarpaulin sand pit, but there's something wrong. No waves crash against shifting shells. You trick me so I run.

The apple tree scratches me as I walk up the garden, remembering, the scratches aren't as bad as the roses. Do you rember crisp autumn mornings on the nasturtium hill, playing king and queen winning battles with chickens who pecked at our fort? We conquered them, they followed, our servants (with the help of wheat rattling in a bucket.) You silly chook with a plastic bag on your front, fig leaves sticking out from behind your hair. Pohutukawa blossom earrings and a smile smeared with rice cracker and honey. Wooden sticks from G-pa's Te Tree forest, who would play the cripple today?

Waiheke meant sea lice bites itching our skin. Swearing to one another never to go there again. Home made hamburgers on the portable stove top in the help me stand up kitchen. Yours came first. You were the favorite, that's why I didnt need to cry at the funeral. What are you going to do when Iris dies? When Grandad and Nana die? When mum and dad and aunties and uncles all die? Will you hold me if I cry?

I don't scream at mum anymore. I don't bang doors or scratch or pinch or bite like I used to. I don't scribble on walls or tear up books anymore. I don't have tantys in the middle of foriegn French museums and drag a teddy behind me when I stomp around.

I don't need hugs when I'm tired I don't get put to bed or get fetched hot milk in the midle of the night. I don't get kisses on my forehead or bear hugs from dad. I go out by myself, I don't need your guiding hand. I'm taller now, fatter too. I have a boyfriend, I drive the car. Finally out grown the bigger sister, it was obvious I would. Did you see it?
Are you proud now that I'm all grown up?
Or are you like me?

Are you scared?

9.

so my sister just got awarded another scholarship.
exams next week, im competing with her. the sister who has gotten excellence endorsed certificates every year of NCEA, been offered 2 scholarships and passed slash gained an eco schol exam. Did i mention she picked eco up in year 13 for the first time?
um so im hoping to pass.
maybe ill go live under market road bridge because failing exams means living with my mothers disapointment, which is worse than anything imaginable.

8.

Exuberant bursts of fireworks like flowers in bloom resting in the valleys of cabbage tree leaves. Reliant on the seasons.
We sit in chemistry chatting, crying, laughing.
my
excellent
parents
buy
pot
Why is everything a joke? Because we still haven't grown up.
I need a run for oxygen. I want music and darkness and feet. A hard floor hurts my feet, erodes my shoes. Irreversible formulas. A car squeals in a circle. HANDLEBRAKE! Points on a line, bodies in the water. How could so many die? Why cant we have more time, the morning is always going to come. New black boots.

Slap. Naaa shes still out cold. Lets leave her sleeping. Anyway we have things to do. Purpler perpendicular and red pencils dancing. If I didn't eat and walked around naked I WOULD be the richest person around. Screw degrading images. That's similar to 'Fuck Me'. Everything has sexual connotations what the hell is sticking out of that tree? Oh don't worry, only whiskers.

Shh. Here and shh are her favourite words I bet she whispers at black cats in the darkness. Where did the squirrel run to when its home was chopped down? Polar ice caps are making tropical waters.

Have you ever looked through the drink bottle into the water? I see an eye reflected, how come Ive never seen it blink? People in chairs suspended in the air. Whoa. Holding the time still Molly Moon has taken over my body.

Someone walked over my grave last night. I could feel it in the way shivers ran down my spine. Upside down toes aren't meant to be in the air. Pens click, click, click. Mushrooms soak soak soak. Lets play guess who?! Eye spye? spie? spi? spy. Hide and seek. How long can you stay crouched in the shrubs, there is sick on that shoe. How many words can fit on this page?

You want a cup of tea? Hang on we don't have a kettle.
A dog under a bed. On cue. 2AM. It barks. It licks. It waggles. A shove and it falls backwards, dreams capture slumber. Yellow leaves and olive trees. My voice is rough, sore, overused.

I'm sorry for being selfish yesterday. Unfortunately I haven't made a time machine yet. Tuna in a can. Lemon and black pepper. A smell. Noses crinkle then laughter. The oven blackened the burritos. I don't even remember who put them in. Brittle pumus and pita with tahini.

Swimming in the washing machine. Where did you go?

7.

How to be different.
1. The Hair
curl it
crimp it
cut it
punk it
plait it
dread it
dye it
shave it

2. The Eyes
squint them
open them
colour them

3. The Nose
pierce it
shorten it
squash it
crinkle it

4. The Lips
colour them in
open them
purse them
kiss them

5. The Attitude
induldge it
bully it
bitch it
scream at it
smile with it
ignore it

6.

I hate writing in clichés. I hate girls writing about boys. I hate soapy operas.
The funny thing is I found something was itching to get out. This made its way onto the page. It is a bundle of clichés. I am writing about a boy. It is soapy. In fact it is a terrible little piece of prose. But sometimes you just want to try to do exactly what everyone else is doing. So here goes:

I make him smile. I try scowling. It makes him laugh at the way my frown twitches playing with my eyebrows trying to turn them upside down.
His hands slide down my back finding where to settle; content and warm.
His hands are always warm.
I want to melt into him so he can never escape because I can never get enough.
I try to tell him this through our clothes sending silent messages with my tongue. So used to talking it has found something else it quite likes to do.

Mum

Dont think I'm mistaken but on the phone I thought you said home at 7? What is this when you walk in late? The dinner is soggy. Who would touch that now?

Dont give me that look.
Yes I am the angry houswife.

5.

Trevor is waiting outside. He is leaning on the table I left him at. The damp wood makes his orange stripe and black body stand out. I can already smell the CRC tainting my fingers. Im careful not to get it on the paint, dont want it to strip. Its really hard to think with my ipod in my ears. Im sick of not knowing what to write so I might just, finally clean my bike.

4.

We are acquiring a sense of belonging and building our own place. It has a staircase spiraling up the tree trunk. Windows will open to hear the birdsong, they will be tui's in summer, kereru at night. Clothes will fall out of wardrobes, materialistic. Do you want to blend in? For if you do I shall paint you in water colour. Or are you bright, bold, beautiful. I shall choose primary oils and acrylics. Are you sticky on the end of the brush or chalky on the end of my fingers. Do you get caught in the creases of my fingerprints? I think not. I think you are a cardboard cut out, solid, rough, brown. She is wispy sketches, grey, white, black. You look at her once but the cardboard wont bend to look around and see her twice. Leaving her, you are seeking me out. Hide and seek. Are we 5? No, but memories crash, waves on a lake shore lapping up the attention you choose to give them.
When you find me I am blurred pastel on paper. Edges undefined.

3.

When her head is still, the room keeps spinning. Everything tips, the boom comes near, who is messing with the rudder? Contents of jars seem everywhere. As it gets later it is so funny she cant stop laughing. It feels good. It feels free. It feels like an absence of pain. She thinks she is dancing under the stars arms wrapped around a boy meet at dusk two hours ago. Mostly he is holding her up. Inside he really wants her. She cant tell, but maybe she wants him too.

2.

Pink flashing lights. Riding through the city, late night. Fluorescent tubes flicking on a show. feet resting on the door, hand lying in someone else's. Grey T-shirt, black shoes. Silence is calming, all the words of the hot day have been scorched out of stuffy air. So we sit and watch, then drive. Who knows where we will end up but it feels right, this new direction heading to where the sun should meet us. Its too early now but out there the gulls will start flying to wake rangi up and in a few hours their wings will be tipped with gold. Their cries will annoy the Devonport goers holding wobbly umbrellas. In the city that is an Isthmus, it will always, maybe, not rain. Over the Wopwops the wind comes. Westerly. The darkness suffocates the sound it makes. Even though there are no clouds the stars have disappeared. Twinkling eyes replace the refraction in the sky. None of that matters right now though. To a teenager in a car, with her eyes heavy with everything shes seen, with her legs stretched as far as the polo will allow, with an imagination running wild.

1.

Delila Lillyhood brought the fun home in a foil wrapped bundle. It went up in smoke, always disappearing much sooner than desired. Always hungry. Hungry for more? Or hungry for the reckless games that followed.It was selfish. Of course it was. High as kites but nearly free they cut each others strings that attached them to the chubby cheeked girl grounding them.

A Sunday night was always the best. The fever would last for hours then sleep came so sweetly trickling in under their lids, flickering the lights. Clouds moved slowly. Blinking I held the power to make them stop. Magic? No just the drugs.

That meant next morning you would go fishing baiting the line in hope to drag it in. If it came like the tides biggest waves it would rush through every where touching inside and bringing back the slightest smile from the yester-night.

Ridges and grooves. Spinning circles in white petticoats around the room. Bad voices yell at the top of their lungs along to blurred words that don’t quite carry the same punch as those from back in the day, yea he black as the street was. When Kanye used to rap some sense into the world and Lupe was just feeding those hurt souls.

Tingles in my toes. Hehe giggles splurge falling helplessly noisily snortily all over the floor. Up the walls his laugh is louder gaining height fast getting dizzy almost light headed. Faint? No its just the drugs.

A small weapon, cold and hard. Beautiful. Ice heart. Characters bouncing out from Narnia. Why? Its our imaginations bro.

The Cheshire cat pays us a visit. Its midnight. His stomach is cramping with the cold. Maybe it’s the dancing. Who knows? Billy. Billy swims in the water, choppy but glassy just like drowning. Cymbals striking in the distance. No its thunder. Haha. Just kidding. Going deaf. Is it the music? No its our ignorance.

Its all cut up. Grinding back teeth, luring eyes and tickling lashes. Lulled. False sense of pretence. Pft and that word means what?

Dreams about babies imagine waking up pregnant. Were you raped in your sleep? No I’ve changed my name to Mary. Oh I forgot, you don’t have a uterus.

Kids cartoons and chilling in the magic tree which seems faraway. Climbing rough bark on skinny shins. The baby will be called Aihurangi. Your weird with your Maori. Hey Fuck Off Spanish Boy.

A bach. Running out of water mad teens collecting rain drops in billies, gumboots, chillybins, buckets. Oyster shells peeled prized off the more solid rock. Slippery insides. Yuck. Don’t think we’ll try those for a while. Beer bottle holds up a stub of waxy light. Inside the rain is soft and the moths flick from one bulb to another drawing patterns across their eyes. Sockets empty of wires. Left useless. Husbands huh. We talk mostly about endings. About next week, next year. Not much about yesterday. Its been, gone, done and dusted. Exactly the boring kind of charm that pleases the mother figure. Fat load of good she did. Taught me bum all next to nothing. Whistle in the darkness. For the dog? Or the new pet snail.

Slippery is a slippery word. It glides off your tongue like honey. No it doesn’t honey is sticker than PVA glue. Something slippery I can’t think only of a snail trail and that makes me think of bruce. The line of hair trailing away from his belly button way down to way down where.

Hats are like frying pans. Theres always too many when you don’t need them. That’s a new simile bet janet frame didn’t discover that i shall deliver it to her grave. Her kete was full of korero. Jumbled up though on paper everything looked straight to the frizzy orange haired hero.

I want to forge my way into their lives like the smoke smell lingering so they don’t forget at least for awhile exactly who I am. One step at a time maybe a perfume that leaves stains invisible to the eye. I think my tiptoes are silent but the house moves in a different direction to my sneaking travels. A giggle. He is sitting waiting cliché in the moonlight. Oh how romantic. Waiting for a pipe and the magic of a puffing dragon.

Numbers my hated enemy they are too clever too wise i hold the world close for the comfort of words will never escape me.

Fat then thin all im doing is trying to decide if I really want to fit in.