You'd be surprised to hear
where I am right now. I'm
a little surprised myself to be
here. I'm bleeding on this
paper. 3-hole punchers
are dangerous. Oh, wide eyes.
How do I know? I can see
your reaction. You forget
how well I know you. Do
you remember how you
kissed me back when
things were perfect? I do.
I can still taste them. How
often I'd press my lips
on paper to get your black
lipstick off and hang my
little imprints on the wall.
My mom always asked who
I'd kissed, and if I was
a lesbian. I'd just sigh
and roll over, mumbling
something about being too
tired to talk. And she'd
give a twin sigh and
slam my door. I know she
always hoped I'd follow
her out and apologize. But
my pride is phlegm
I have to spit out
because it's too big and disgusting to swallow.
But we kissed; oh! the
kisses. How lovely they
were. So casual, like hugs,
something that we never
expected to get stared at
for. I loved the taste of
Tootsie Pops that was always
on your lips. You shared
those suckers with me
often, when we couldn't steal
kisses without teachers
yelling about PDA and
how homosexuality was
against their morals. We
always laughed at them
and skipped the detentions
they gave us when in
their furious passion.
Life was beautiful. But
beauty always has died
fast, like rose petals wilt
and fall from corsages.
And that fateful day that
I got that fateful phone call,
life was uglier than
anything. My house was
TPed that night, with
"DYKE!" spray-painted on the
garage door. (Oh, did I tell you?
We had to get a new one.
The paint wouldn't come off.)
It seems like it's been hundreds
of years since those idiots twisted
that knife in your stomach, since
justice was not served because
you were a dyke. But in reality,
it's only been 7 months.
And here I sit at your grave site,
writing this to you as a birthday present.
You would have turned 15 today, did
you know that? You were so excited to
get your permit. You were so excited
that the two of us could take little
road trips, to Kankakee and to Orland
and to Southlake. But I suppose I'll
have to take those trips alone. And
I'm sure that in heaven, or wherever you are
in the world, you've already taken
those trips of ours many times over,
waiting for me in the sky so you can
kiss me with your Tootsie Roll-flavored
black lips.