Some might call it distorted reality, but its exactly the place I need to be.
Scott, lost in his own world of "woe's me." Evermore distant, as if in a midlife quest.
Stacy, not like a mother to me. Expectations reaching the sky, I could never amount.
No big sister,
Ashlin, caught up in the tempest of her "older" boyfriend. Moving out.
Vince, living states far from me and without much contact at all.
There is only the voice inside. I've grown to like her better then the fake husk of me.
She's not quite silent,
Shouts obscenities just because they roll so well off the tongue.
Not quite straight-A,
But talented in oh-so-many other enviable ways.
Not quite sane,
Sometimes, to tell the truth, even I wonder about her.
There is no perfect daughter ,
No gifted high school freshman,
No Jenna May Barker.
There is only Luna.
she's always been there, vague as a soft copper pulse of moonlight through blossoming seacoast fog.
when I first noticed her, slipping in and out of my very pores, playing hide-and-seek, a phantom.
Luna when dreams no longer satisfy, when gentle clouds of cotton smother thunder, when Jenna cries.
the night I first let her go, opened the smeared glass, one thin pain between rules and sin, freed.
More on Luna,
those Psych '01 labels, I'm no more schizo then most.
no imaginary playmate, no overactive pituitary, no alter ego moving in. Hers is the face I wear,
treading on the riptide, fathomless oceans where, good girls drown.
even good girls have secrets, ones even their best friends must guess.
they turn to on lonely moon-shadowed sidewalks? I'd love to hear them confess: Who do they become when night descends, a cool puff of smoke, and vampires come out to party?