At first we raced through space, like shadows and light; her rants, my raves; her dark hair, my blonde; black dresses, white. She's a purple-black African-violet-dark butterfly and I a white moth. We were two wild ponies, Dawn and Midnight, the wind electrifying our manes and our hooves quaking the city; we were photo negatives of each other, together making the perfect image of a girl.
Francesca Lia Blockthe rain is coming. little sister, the night broke. the thunder cracked my brain finally. the rain is coming, i promise you. i didnโt mean to but your tears will bring life back. purple flowers grow, the colour blood looks in the veins. theyโll sprout out of my chest. i promise you theyโll crack the ground, grow over the freeways, down the slopes to the sea. iโll be in their faces. iโll be in the waves, coming down from the sky. iโll be inside the one who holds you. and then i wonโt be.
Francesca Lia BlockMaybe i would become a mermaid... i would live in the swirling blue-green currents, doing exotic underwater dances for the fish, kissed by sea anemones, caressed by seaweed shawls. I would have a doliphin friend. He would have merry eyes and thick flesh of a god. My fingernails would be tiny shells and my skin would be like jade with light shining through it I would never have to come back up
Francesca Lia BlockBeauty loved him more than anything, her Beast boy, but, secretly, sometimes, she wished he would have remained a Beast.
Francesca Lia BlockHe said, You're so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.
Francesca Lia BlockUnder the ground seep the toxins of the population that lives above. If you have to, you will eat roots and earthworms. It is always night. Candles burn in lanterns made from tin cans. When it is nighttime up above, you can crawl out, but only for a little while. You feel ashamed of your matted hair, your torn clothes, the dirt on your face. Who would want to speak to you? They are all shiny and pretty. They have parents and house with gardens. What do you have? The earth. Whole handfuls of it. The lizard people with their slit eyes and scaly skin. Your loneliness. Your longing.
Francesca Lia Block