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     you do not belong here.  you need to pack up your photos and scrap-
book pages and leave this place.  you need to wear in those shoes,
grow your hair long, let the world change the color of your eyes,
the taste of you.  i need to not recognize you anymore.  it hurts to
watch you breaking, here.  this city is an ashtray and you're
in the hands of some scared teeange girl.  you need to go.
     you belong somewhere where the women wear hoop skirts and
men send flowers with cursive-written cards attached.  somewhere
warm with cobblestone streets in the old neighborhoods.  you belong
in a place where little girls in bathing suits sell lemonade for a
quarter, limes a penny extra.  you belong somewhere where you can
kiss romantic, under streetlights, in ballrooms, on her doorstep.
not here.
      the women here wear low tops and short skirts, and boys bring
girls stale corsages and hope for sex after prom.  i've not seen
anywhere here not covered in cement and disappointmment.  ever
since two kidnappers, children aren't allowed on the sidewalks alone
anymore.  teenagers make out on couches, behind the cafeteria,
just lust.  the rainwater is acidic here.  it's burning trails down your
cheeks, leaving scars.  it's killing you.
      kiss me goodbye and sew my eyes shut tight.  you're dying but
it hurts to see you leave.  love.

      just go.

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