OBJECTIVE: TAKE HER

ATTEMPT: 1

they sit in the center of a roller-skating rink,

underneath a cracked and bleeding disco ball.

in the corner, three pixelated arcade games hum with static,

their faded lights blinking every so often to throw the room into full relief.

the carpet surrounding the rink, once a glowing neon in the black light,

is now covered in dirt and debris from years of neglect;

the smell of mold lingers over the space,

replacing the familiar scent of cheaply baked pizza.

nothing is as it was, anymore.

they get to their feet, upsetting the film of dust already gathering on their trousers,

and walk through the door into the rest of the building,

passing the booth where kids used to cash in tickets to buy feather hair extensions and finger skateboards.

cobwebs cover the graying figurines left on the shelves, smiles frozen eerily in time.

the door opens, and they squint in expectation of a bright white light,

but all that greets them is the darkness of everything forgotten.

the light on their iphone leads them to the peeling white road traveled on by kick-scooters (only now used by bugs);

in the center is the primary-colored climbing structure,

all the plastic coverings shredded to reveal the flattened foam underneath.

to the left is the deflated remains of a bounce house,

and in front of that is the main arcade center,

the whack-a-mole ducks looking towards the light with unseeing eyes.

a low hum comes from the pac-man game.

where is she?

they pick up their pace, running along the track and past the broken skateboard jumps.

the ball pit is deserted, only two or three balls remaining,

as are the party rooms,

their purple lights fizzling ominously.

finally, they come to a stop in front of the pink-clothed tables.

there you are.

a young girl sits at the table in the middle table among a sea of unwrapped and discolored birthday presents.

she has face-paint on in the shape of a butterfly that matches the one on the sour-smelling cake in front of her,

the candles long burned down to nubs.

in her hand is a bunch of once-yellow balloons, the only legible letters etched onto them being

ic fun cente.

they kneel down in front of her, their hand coming to rest on her teal leggings.

her voice is so small and faint that they have to lean in to hear her, her pigtails tickling their nose.

-why is nobody coming to my party?

i don't know. maybe they just haven't arrived yet.

nobody would arrive. they know that.

the girl nods slowly, kicking her sparkly shoes in impatience. 

-why are you here?

i wanted to find you. i needed to find you. it's been too long.

-who even are you?

i'm you. well, an older version of you. and i need to take you with me, now. life's been too difficult without you around.

-but i can't leave. i'm waiting for my friends. i even put on my birthday dress, see?

this is super important. don't you want to go somewhere brighter? this place is kind of scary, isn't it?

-mommy's bringing ice cream and she told me to stay right here. you can wait with me, though.

no, i can't wait any longer! life's going by, and i need you by my side! come with me now, before it's too late!

-i want to stay here.

they feel tears stinging in their eyes.

please! PLEASE!

-no!

in desperation, they grab her hand and start pulling her up, ignoring her screams.

she kicks at them once, twice, and then everything goes black.

------------------------------------------------------

OBJECTIVE: TAKE HER

ATTEMPT: 2

they sit in the center of a roller-skating rink,

underneath a cracked and bleeding disco ball.

the chance to dream means the chance for nightmares. a dream without its mirror is not a dream; it is a lie. and yet ignorance is bliss and i suppose bliss wins all.

i don't remember my dreams anymore and sometimes i'm sure it's a conscious decision. i think if i cannot remember the good i will not remember the bad. then what is there left to love? am i so afraid of the monsters in my mind that i turn away all chances to live? there is no flight without first a fall. i refuse to fall. i'm stuck in the white space called repression. it's comfortable, it's safe. it's hell.

so, let us ask then what lies behind the suppression of a dream. does each suppression build? i can feel the pressure between my eyes. perhaps they fall away, shedding off with each forgotten promise. do repressed reveries melt off my skin, dripping radioactive sludge? one day it might kill me. haha;

oh, the irony of erasure.

All things considered - the only thing that is visible is miles of green metal, smoothly textured with bumps and perforations. spotted with rust of course - nothing is unblemished anymore - motorcyle accident off 180 near S---- A-- Boulevard - not after - traffic has come to a standstill - the sun went down - high winds on the Bridge today - for the last time - thank you Listeners - i see the clouds outlined in goldpink.

but i can write about love

did you know that?

i have loved more than a vague entity

or a silhouette

it’s only natural

i am a teenage poet

i have hormones and greasy skin

i have hands that itch to touch

and yes, i’ve felt that kind of love

that instinctual almost animalistic love

the one that has you licking your lips

squeezing your thighs together

but i can write about love

the kind that yearns for intimacy

just a brush of lips

even a finger or two

your heart will leap and

the weight of the sky will drift away from your shoulders

(they were always clenched tight,

presumably from slouching)

this kind of love

the chaste kind of love

i gawk at the thought of ever outgrowing it

any more than i already have

i want a brush of lips

to still be enough for me

i can write about love

i can reach into my memories of our early days

and regurgitate that feeling

onto the parchment canvas

but i may never get that feeling back

(so long as the fire in my loins persists)

i love and i crave

and i’m tired of being ashamed

i am young, i am hormonal, and i yearn

hold my hand and kiss me hard

she was worshipped, deified

her hair braided and dipped in gold

thousands of petals scattered before her

they reached out for her, lovingly, obsessively

hands dragged her down, through the layers of the earth

she was hated, demonized

she was hated, demonized

hands dragged her upward, through the layers of the earth

they reached out for her, lovingly, obsessively

thousands of petals scattered before her

her hair braided and dipped in gold

she was worshipped, deified

i am terrified of my darkened room,

the shadows of the trees on the wall

the shapes of my posters, the audible

creaks or thumps of the house at night.

i routinely turn over to each side to

keep watch: the wall, the windows,

the ceiling. i see things perched on

the roof next door, swaying gently.

i am terrified of my darkened room,

and yet i risk it all to see the moon.

when it shines so brightly in squares

on my pillow, hits my eye, smiles.

i can't help but to get up and tiptoe

(so as not to wake the sleeping demons)

and gaze at the scarred face in the sky;

sometimes i even open the window.

queen elizabeth apparently wears faded sweatpants and a lighthouse nautical t-shirt. she has shoulder length hair that is kinda blond which she wears in the same style every single day. except in the evenings on weekdays when she has it in a tight bun. she has brown eyes that she doesn't like (which is dumb because they are nice) and she has a freckle under her eye that appeared out of nowhere one day. her eyebrows are feathery and natural looking, and she wears mascara sometimes. usually she has circles under her eyes because she stays up way too late doing work or calling a certain someone (i can't say who) but they are trendy right now so it's okay. she also has really nice ears. i mean it, they are the best ears i've ever seen. she could model earrings but her ears aren't pierced anymore because they got infected and she's too scared to pierce them again. so she mostly relies on simple gold necklaces in the shape of california or maybe the occasional butterfly pendant or ring. it's hard to believe that this is the woman in charge of a country but she does a pretty good job at keeping things in order. i heard one time that she banished someone for his choice in shoes but other than that she is a just and fair ruler. her favorite color is usually something like lavender or light blue, as this is the color of her room. despite finding time to rule a country, do homework, and take ballet classes, she never has the time (somehow) to write letters to her best friend, which is a sad but forgivable offense. another thing- she almost never wears dark clothing and she never takes her best friend's advice on which leotard to wear even though she always asks which one she should wear. when she bakes or cooks (which is not often) she always, without fail, spills something like flour or puts something in the wrong bowl, and inevitably takes about two hours to mix up a simple batter. her majesty's dog, bella, is constantly teased and picked up, although she has somehow managed to become spoiled and eats carrots on a daily basis. she has questionable taste in men and deliberates way too long over a text to someone who doesn't deserve her. she draws horrible looking pandas in the wrong color and used to wear her hair in a low ponytail every single day from first to fifth grade. her favorite show features horrible people and weird storylines and she tortures her best friend by making her watch it and refuses to watch anything else, even if she knows she'll like it. but she's straight so it makes sense. in conclusion i am best friends with queen elizabeth who has a lot of flaws which i won't list as they are apparent to the reader but she is still amazing so no one can criticize her except for me.

i found gold on the edges of trees

embedded in the sidewalks

swirling like pixie dust in the bodies of waves

caught by the sun for a millisecond.

i found it flecked in the eyes of strangers

floating in a beam of windowlight

dripping from a flame

glinting off of a tin roof.

i found gilded goat horns and

pearl dust mixed with mica shimmer

on cheekbones

and noses.

i found gold hidden in old inkpads

embossed on the covers of favorite books

flaked on an old mirror

flashed in a smile.

look there! the shine of a golden curl

immortalized by the silver screen.

take me to the rose bowl, where intellect grows, intertwined with the ivy on the walls. push my nose into the coffee house, where the brightest lines were born and the deepest thoughts were sown. in this pool of wild curiosity, untamed innovation set to burst at the seams, i hope i find a corner i get to call my own.

i make my own reality before the sun decides to rise; it brews on the stove while i prepare my morning tea. a pinch of practicality, a dash of idealism, a heaping teaspoon of hope for the best. i grew up believing that if i wasn’t fermat reincarnated i’d be lost to dead stars, the remnant of a failed parental experiment. i used to wonder why i could feel poems in my bones but couldn’t trust my solution for x.

i think i know now, how to integrate and assimilate, to derive and deduce and decide. i was raised to believe i could only be one thing, and that the thing that i was wouldn’t do. across disciplinary lines, into nooks and crannies of academic divides, i have found my home in the cracks. it rains heavily tonight-i hope the seeds i have planted learn to sprout.