Before I knew myself, uttered out loud the words
labeling me a this or a that or a who knows?
I developed feelings for a wounded eye girl
we were kids really, dressing up as Japanese geisha in my room
all festooned in asian print and a little tea set I got for cheap
from china town
we wore chopsticks in our hair and bowed ceremoniously
singing the only song we knew in Japanese
with The Mikado playing in the background
I liked her thin arms and her prominent nose
her knock knee urchin look and bandaged soul
I liked how strong she was even as she looked like she’d fly away
most of all I was attracted to her wounded eyes
for there is something heady and bewitching in
and its infinite manifestations
we’d dress up, I would paint her lips scarlet, we’d put on
funny accents and roll on the floor looking up at glow stars
I still had stuck there with movie posters of vampires
she would fling her arm out across my chest, tell me of herself
pouring out the suffering of her short life
and it was an awful life before she was
brought to this city we lived in, both from somewhere else
transplants, orphans, ghosts of ourselves with missing DNA
she would tell me of her homeland, how
her father beat her black and blue for
being a girl
why as she got older he took
each of her sisters one by one
and they didn’t come back
whole or even
I wanted to lick the pain from her cheeks and hold her to me
until the wound healed
but nothing I could ever do would assuage
the wounds behind her dark brown eyes
so we played as little girls do
building camps and tepees and western saloons
once I played a prostitute and she a cowboy
I cocked my head, snapped a red garter and asked her;
want to have some fun soldier?
she laughed, such a lovely laugh
her black hair and coffee skin, shining with fantasy
she didn’t like being herself anymore than me
we got into our pretend saloon bed
I served her a pretend shot of whiskey
acted ‘saucy’ the way I had learned from TV
she rolled her eyes laboriously like a comedian winking
pulled up my petticoats which were real
and at one point had been my mother’s wedding dress
when she married my father, bare foot and broke
with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck
and our fingers explored each other
as we giggled and changed our voices to all the favorite
TV characters we knew
I think I even tried to be Sue Ellen
I wanted to tell her then, not to stop
to press my mouth to her pomegranate lips
touch her swelling breasts with my own lack of
run myself like a cat across her saffron skin
but even then I knew
damage makes bad bed fellows
we soon changed the game, to cops and robbers
climbing out of the window, swinging from trees
though in every story
there was an element of romance
I thought of the old shows I loved
where the actors were always
dancing around the circumference
of each others heart
how in real life sometimes they married
I told my father; Oh see! Oh see! pretend things can come real!
but some cannot
and she and I grew up
once she told me she had always known I felt like that
I blushed dark red because of course
thinking I’d been subtle when watching her changing clothes
she married a blonde haired man and moved to Australia
had a little boy and hopefully
a ceasing of her alotment of pain
because more than anything I wanted that for her
even more than the beautiful moment
of two girls
laying in sunlight
laughing at imagined things
for the rest and peace and escape
of anything real
39 Replies to “The wounded eyed girl”
You’re welcome lovely
Words can’t express how much your comment means to me.
She choose a friend well.
There is a great beauty in wishing sincerely for someone’s dream and hope to come true, even though it means one of your own cannot.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Two girls, before growing up
I feel so glad when I hear she is thriving. She was born on a knife’s edge. To believe the worst of her pain is over brings me a lot of peace and contentment. She is a really lovely human being.
What a beautiful beautiful story. My heart is torn in the beauty and tragedy and soft gentleness of it.
Awesome candy girl
You have rapidly evolved from a mysterious brilliant poetess living in the wilds to one of my dearest supporters and I hope you know I think exactly the same things about YOUR work because you are stupendous and I have not used that word in a VERY long time but it seems absolutely apropo! I admire your work so much that is the true seal of approval when you read something and think damn I wish I wrote that! You must keep writing forever I am a huge fan and would do anything to help you further your natural ability and have your words shared with the world xo
Thank you beautiful friend
The last 8 lines ❤
I love this:
“I liked her thin arms and her prominent nose
her knock knee urchin look and bandaged soul”
Poignant memories…. delicately beautiful writing, Candice. 💗💗
I like your reminiscings, bitter sweet though they be at times. Hope you are getting better day by day by day………
Wow. This is an enthralling read. So well done
So sweet, and innocent. I think you made me shed a tear. Truly Beautiful.
A wonderful piece of nostalgia!
The Geisha is loved… is she loving in return… or just saving face
It is good to read of tender love
Gorgeous, poignant, sensual, mature. You have a big heart Feather.
Beautiful words. Love this part of the verse: “. . . her knock knee urchin look and bandaged soul, I liked how strong she was even as she looked like she’d fly away, most of all I was attracted to her wounded eyes, for there is something heady and bewitching in pain . . .” ♥
This is such a compassionate poem.
Coming from you that makes me so all silly and happy thank you dear one
Thank you so much I love this comment so much and I am so appreciative to you for writing this and reading my work – thank you dear friend.
Thank you. It is actually too big. I feel too much. I hurt too much. I am appreciative to you my friend and I think of you often in fact today’s poem had you in mind you will see why when you read it xo
Aww shucks, ma’am. 🙂
But that is why you are so good… happiness writes white. Thank you I am visiting now
Not sure I should be flattered if I am one of the rouges in your poem which I left a long message on…thank you though… we are very alike in a lot of ways Miss Feather.
‘Damage makes bad bed fellows.’ You are simply so fucking eloquent it amazes me! Sorry I’ve been absent, my eyes are being buggers. Just wanted to pop in and say how much I love your writing.
Missed you my lovely so good to see you back. Your eyes still acting up?
PS sending you love and thinking of you sister
Ugh unfortunately…it seems to be the story of my life. Hope you’re well 😊
Thank you for that 😍
“she didn’t like being herself anymore than me” those friendships, the associations where we mentor each other, they are the healers of our future selves. I know, I have one of those. This was achingly beautiful, Candice. <3
Reblogged this on I Write Her and commented:
Quality friendships are what sustain us through the difficulties of life. Candice illustrates this beautifully with this piece, and as always, so heartfelt that the words just reach in and squeeze you! <3
Quality friendships are definitely what sustains us throughout the difficulties of life. Couldn’t agree more. And couldn’t ask for a better friend than you xo
<3 xoxo ((hugs)) 🙂 Have a great day, my friend!!
You also my beauty. I woke up thinking about you actually. I will write you in a little while.
Talk to you soon! <3
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