dear white scarf boy,
the bandannas are falling into the streets tonight; i promise you i'll shell the colors till only denim eyes are left. i promise you i'll fill the streets with bullet scented incense. the coal mines will be ignited tonight, and the houses will be rocked from their spines by speeding four-by-fours, as the guns hum their lullabies to the sleepy. when i burn stalacite into metal and broken bones; i'll remember the way you traced my freckles and made me promise you to hold on to the edge of the world, when i trip. i'll remember that you said that you'd die before you created skeletons and dead dreams. that you'd sacrifice yourself as a peace offering to avoid cracking a community hanging from it's last bridges; hoping on it's last fairytale ships.
we run tonight; truce boy. we fly tonight; peace boy. we are light tonight; crosses and crossroads boy.
love,
the cobalt letter girl
p.s
you're wrong to say some things are cycles that are meant to be broken.
dear unsaved girl,
the stars are crying in their cradles; i promise you their grief will collide with your hands as they scream. i promise you i'll write you a poem about iron and elbows that don't know how to let go. i promise you i'll be sure to pray for the four letter words up in flames tonight, i'll be sure to say words for you, and the bandannas as you cut them. as the shafts close down, and you catch yourself in a flooded mine, sinking into the earth where it came from; i'll stand at the window and wait for you. while ligaments are shattered, i'll hope yours are still intact. i'll remember that while i coined your fingers and quieted your screaming hands, you weren't afraid anymore. that once you weren't a pistol heavy eyed girl, but someone who knew where they came from. someone that had truth in their lung cavities, and a voice in their throat. you weren't always an angry bee with it's stinger stripped from your back; and you'd hate for anyone to know that you can be vulnerable. if you let go tonight, and don't stop the trains from careening, i'll be sure to write that into poetry to give to the survivors.
if you don't slow down; i'll tell people you aren't a bad person, purple girl. if you cut others wings, i'll give them mine, angel girl.
if you set the world on darkness; i'll blow out my ribs in order to create candles; ephemeral girl.
love,
waiting boy
p.s
you weren't the cycle that i meant;
you're already broken, but you can
be fixed; and revised into something whole.
Gold trophy winner
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