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T H E G I R L W H O C O U L D N ' T F L Y
I
Summer's dreams still born before they've even begun;
Becky just wanted to be loved by everyone.
Lurching through the hysteria of sleep each night
She made the mistake that any of us might.
Dancing alone in her room, to her own CD;
How come she's a size eight and she's still so lonely?
Choking sobs into her pillow; but no one sees
Such apathetic pleading and apologies.
Forcing down cheap vodka, reading about the stars,
Lying flat on her stomach, listening to cars
Speed past her window. How many cars till she knew
She couldn't ever become somebody like you?
II
A wicked tide picking at her soul every day,
She knew she needed help, but didn't know what to say.
Even if we'd have seen how it would end, who would
Have helped her mould her life into the shape it should
Have been?
Pressing herself against the rain streaked glass, her eyes
Bleeding mascara; broken heart, desperate for lies.
Living a death sentence: culture, remorse, fear. She
Feels like the insides of a broken clock when the
Rust sets in.
Which sad songs, and sadder books, played in her head?
It's so hard to take, that she wanted to be dead.
She put on a new skirt and top before she went,
And painted every finger nail a different
Colour.
III
Her Dad found her empty room, her stuff was all there;
Her tarty skirts and clever books; there was nowhere
She could have gone. No friends or boys or anything.
They didn't know what to do, or who they should ring.
They told us in assembly, a week after we
Already knew. Her teacher kept telling us she
Felt so guilty, and that we'd miss Becky so much.
Some of the girls cried anyway. No one talked much.
Her parents moved away not very long after.
Kids from our year made up ghost stories about her.
Once, when they were drunk, they tried spelling out her name
With a ouija board; but no reply ever came.
IV
Walking through wet grass in toeless shoes, she thought how
The life she had wanted was in tatters, how
No one could hold on to her - make her feel all right.
The paper stained with tears, the note she left that night
Said it all.
When she stood there; praying for something to hold her back
Gravity proved stronger, what should have held her back
Abandoned her. In that dark, her eyes must have seen
Such intense sadness, where a river should have been
Instead.
I sometimes cross her bridge. The water that took her
Looks too bright, and I feel too little. They found her
All messed up by fish, two miles further downstream.
It's so sad to watch the beer cans dance in that clean
Brittle water.
V
And I drank alcopops, and smoked with younger girls
While the mess of hate and pain and missing out swirled
Round and round her head. I write her name on my hand;
But she's dead, how can I pretend to understand
What she felt?
__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."
The Gospel of Thomas
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