Elegy for the Girl We Could Have Been

I often think of the girl in yellow that came to me once in a dream.
She spoke to me of a world she came from that I could never even once see.
You spake of a world where you We were best friends but you loved me dearly.
and would have spoken until the very end. You said in this world the opposite was true. That in this world I was the one who loved you.

I remember that dream vividly as she told me how much she loved me.
How it was worth it to keep going.

She took me on dates, she cooked me soup and showed me a world that I could only imagine with a smile.

I remember how the dream ended with a kiss that I felt as vividly as though it had actually happened.

Sometimes I wonder if Magic is Real.

If the bridge between dimensions is as loose as simply finding the right key to put in a door.
Maybe I can find a knife and jam it in there and escape into that world

Maybe if I find the Right Magic words

But the truth of the matter is something a bit deeper.

Something that I know now the truth of deep in these bones that refuse to cease their endless march.
That girl in the dream is the Me I Could have been.

In a world of should haves and could haves and would haves.

In a world of Deserving in a deserving of needs.

In a world where the deep fog deep inside was not something that could have torn me apart inside.

These Fragile Hearts.
These Feeble Minds
Running til you’re out of time.
Trying to find Your way home

Floundering in the dark with nothing but a Diamond and a map to guide you.
Looking forward to a future that Might never happen as domino’s topple all around you in the world above.
The infrastructure crumbles as we give thanks to a Corporate God who will never think twice about what it means to be Cold.

We Scream Our words out onto Pyrite thrones carved out of the bones of the world that Could Have Been if we had been loved in the way that was needed! If we had been HEARD in the way that was necessary.

The Voice Outside keeps screaming at me, screaming with a Beautiful Brilliant BEATING HEART THAT ONCE WAS DEAD.
IT WANTS TO STAY SAFE, IT WANTS TO STAY.
It screams

“You would die and nothing would ever be able to save you in the cosmic wonder that is The Story outside the rails. Your mind is not ready. You are not ready for the world outside.”

And a voice screams out at me wondering if this is worth it. A Voice screams out at me begging to be heard. The tiny dusty box in the long forgotten corner of a train that I almost had forgotten stares at me as I reach a hand out to take it. The eyes in the car look back at me fueling the dread that threatens to send me even deeper into a dystopia of my own mind.

How long have I been screaming for help that never came.
How long have I been in so much pain
How long have these weary bones kept carrying the Weight Of Thousands that came before her.

Everyone screams but Nobody Listens.
STICK YOUR HEART INTO A BLENDER
WATCH IT SPIN AS IT IS RENDERED
INTO A BRILLIANT PIERCING RED.

I am a digital girl
Made of digital means
Ones and zeroes control my strings

COME ONE COME ALL AND HEAR A TALE
OF A BIRTHDAY WITCH FROM BEYOND THE VEIL.
TOSSING OUT CURSES LIKE THEY’RE FREE
BUT A CARELESS NIGHT IS ALL YOU SEE.

It is hard to speak these days
As though the words that once spilled from my eager lips
Now catch at my throat and poison the well within
The ability to talk that I once treasured now lost

How do I explain the sensation of eyes
Just out of the corner of your vision.
The feeling of being watched by a god,
Who claims to love but lets his iron,
Be corrrupted by a flame that we can barely
Even process in the world above.

When I was young I was told that there was a ghost
That would come to me with words when I needed them most.

A voice of wisdom, it would be my guide
But all there was was vitriol inside.
The voices I listened for never came

“God am I good?”
“God are you there?”

“You are horrible, and god does not care.”

Goodbye my love, My darling my Dear.
There is now nothing more you should fear.
These scars you carried, these wounds you bore.
You can rest now, We can take it from here.

That world that kept you beaten down, battered and bruised
That world that kept you holed up in ways that you Never thought.

You couldn’t SEE THE STRINGS

YOU COULDN’T HOLD THEM IN YOUR HANDS.

The Artifacts that control you are now in my hands, like chains that held me down now used to lift weights that one Girl with a Bat could Never Hope to Carry.

We will hold your words dear and treat them as though they are the words of a Diety of Love. Of one who knows how to love the ones between the margins. A diety of that we now only call through red strings of fate hanging up in the colors that you left behind for us.
But Trust is like a Pond of Murky Water.
And these colors are things I am only just beginning to understand.

The Blue Stands for Service.

The Green stands for Your Roots

The Yellow Stands for the Family that you Choose.

And the Brilliant Bright Red.
Stands for the Blood pumping through my veins that tells me I’M ALIVE.
The Brilliant feeling of pain that course through me every time I see your words tells me I’m ALIVE.
THE BRILLIANT BEATING LOVE FOR THE FRIENDS AROUND YOU THAT DESPITE THE FACT THAT I BARELY REMEMBER THEM STILL WANT TO KEEP ME AROUND TELLS ME THAT I’M ALIVE.
And while your bones, the pieces of the You that Could Have Been are Gone,
I hold your bones in my hands and I will use them to breathe new life in the story of a world that could have been.
They say that everyone has a type of magic in their Heart.
For some it’s being in the right place at the right time.
For some it’s Luck.
For some it’s the ability to Survive.

But As I wear the name of The Grand Mother who passed before I came.
I will look the dead in the eyes and say

I loved you, my Old friend.
That is to say that I loved the scars that made me what I am.
I loved the smile that you wore with confidence of the feeling of freedom.
I loved the heart inside you that for us now beats with the Strength of Thousands.
You may have been told that you are hard to handle, sharp around the edges, or that you are too much.
You may think that you are something that is too much, too little, or takes up too much Space.
I may not know you fully yet, and there may be wounds that my hands touch that still sting.
I do not know your story, your song or the poem in your heart. But I am learning it in the stories you left behind
But the sounds that your words make in my heart stirs something that I can’t stop and the only words it can make is
I love you.
Rest Well, My Dear Alice.
We will keep your name spoken on our lips the Mark of the Lily.