i really wish i grew up in the late 60's. i wish i hung out with andy warhol and smoked cigarettes in the factory. i wish i protested against the war and had long flowing hair. i would wear a flower behind my ear. i'd meet an activist boy with shaggy brown hair and i'd claim it's love. we'd write poetry in parks and make love in the afternoon under willow trees. he'd tell me i was magical. but then he would break my heart and my free spirit would be shattered. i'd start going to underground punk rock shows and lose myself in liquor. i would go home with every boy because every boy would know who i am. i was the girl with a broken heart. we'd shoot lines on cracked mirrors and eventually that would not be enough. i would find a rock star boyfriend with dark eyes and he would tie an elastic around my arm. he would take that needle and prick it into my arm, my blood captured inside the needle. it would look like red clouds in the desert and i'd fall backwards into his sheets, shut my eyes and dream. i would see myself as a little girl, running in a park with a kite in the sky. my mother would laugh and pick me up and twirl me, her laughter filling every pocket of air around me. i would remember what she smelled like. daisies. my rockstar would probably leave me at a party somewhere and i would find his arm around another girl. a younger girl. i'd smash my glass on the ground and walk off into the night. i would stumble down a dark lane and disappear into the night. i would never be seen again.
only a remembered as a faded memory.