Wild: Songs I shouldn't like--

Murder, Murder - Jekyll/Hyde Musical (Wildhorn)
Dangerous Game - Jekyll/Hyde Musical (Wildhorn)

Springtime for Hitler - The Producers

Tomorrow belongs to me - Cabaret

The sun on the meadow is summery warm
The stag in the forest runs free
But gathered together to greet the storm
Tomorrow belongs to me

The branch on the linden is leafy and green
The Rhine gives its gold to the sea (Gold to the sea)
But somewhere a glory awaits unseen
Tomorrow belongs to me

Now Fatherland, Fatherland, show us the sign
Your children have waited to see
The morning will come
When the world is mine
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me

[ADDITIONAL VERSE]
The babe in his cradle is closing his eyes
The blossom embraces the bee
But soon says the whisper, arise, arise
Tomorrow belongs to me
Tomorrow belongs to me

Wild: Repost from FB

Here's the biggest secret in the world:
I care for you.

I meant this to be
an ultimatum
like in the Movies.

Big dramatic music
Well-built sets that, preferably, do not fall apart when kicked
(though either would be fine)
Beautiful actress with tears that don't stain perfect makeup
Man beats the chest that's photoshopped on

I meant this to be
an ultimatum
like in the movies.

It isn't.

I still care.

To tell you this, I was going to

pull my hair with my hands
the hair I'm too wild to cut
and stomp my too-white foot and say,

When you see me on the street
and come, and speak to me
you say,

'How are you today?'

And I say, 'Fine, you?'

And you say, 'Fine. How's life?'

But we're liars.

You aren't fine.
I'm not fine.

The people on the street aren't fine
the people in the boats aren't fine
the people in the movies aren't fine
the people on the stage aren't fine.

I wanted to say,
Stop lying to me, and I'll stop lying to you
we will give the street of not-fine pause.

I wanted to say,
Tell me you're a warrior
with your sword in hand
tell me you have troubles
tell me you're falling apart.

I wanted to say,
Tell me that your life is over
tell me why it's wrong or broken
tell me every single word
you didn't want to say.

I wanted to say,
Crumple up into my arms
and weep away your troubles
Drop your sword on a sidewalk in the city
leave dramatic music with the off switch of the radio.

I wanted to say,
Caring is so easy. I've done it since birth.
Can't you even try?

When you pass somebody
with eyes all rimmed in red, why don't you stop?
Why do we accept that lie?

You and I
when we have this little conversation
where nothing is real, like the qualms of book characters
we aren't the only ones lying.

We aren't the only ones
fighting
weeping
screaming
pounding at the walls or scrunching our eyes shut.

Nobody here is fine.

Why do you lie to me?

I'm not like them.

I want to know.

I want to plunge my hand
in the web of your troubles
wipe it away
like a spider web

I went to open an umbrella
on the raincloud
that hangs on your head

I want to unknot your hair
from the bedpost
when your little brother tied it there

I want to be like the noble who
when he heard a Sappho song
from a boy with a too-clear voice
said,
I must learn it or die.

Wont you sing?
Won't you sing?


Don't tell me you're fine.
Never lie to me again.

I care.

I care, and I will listen.
I see you, and I care.

Don't tell me you are older
don't tell me you are more experienced
don't tell me it's too complicated
don't tell me I can't help.

I don't know everything.

My opinions, in fact, will irk you tremendously
once you learn my heart
and how will I do better
with nothing but my eyes to teach me?

Sing for me.
Sing for me.

You sing and sing and sing
and I will close my eyes and listen
because I care.

Sing for me.
Sing for me.

Sing for me and then
I'll sing for you.

I make it stop.

Oh, nothing will change?
That's right.

But if you're alone
if we're both lying
all we have to lose is 'Fine.'

And I care.


I lean forward on my keyboard
picture your faces, reading this
because my heart knows you will read
and turn away
and ignore
and think
disquieting thoughts

and nothing will change.

Prove me wrong.
Sing for me.

The biggest secret in my world
is the one carved on my arm:
I care.

I care.

I care.











Now sing for me.











Yes, I meant that to be a
revelation
an ultimatum

but I'm far too cowardly
to tell that to your faces
the faces I haven't seen since July in most cases
the faces that make plans when I ask them to greet me
yes, those faces, you know who you are:

I forgive and I forget
I heal and I offer
and all I ask is a song or a story
all I ask is your heart in my hands.

you refuse me, day by day
minute by minute
pulse by pulse.

Cowards!




Yes, I meant this to be a
revelation
an ultimatum

but you're busy
and I'm cowardly
I have no
comely nature
to lure your truth to the cage of my heart.







Someday you will see this, need this
that's the lie I cling to now
someday you will know this, want this
and I will be waiting then.

Waiting.

Just like now.
































Sing, and sing, and sing
for me
Because I'll always
care
Because I'll always
listen.









The biggest secret in the world:
I care.

Wild: Scarring

Scars:
 they open again
doesn't matter how long they've been closed
or how you've changed
doesn't matter how charming you are now, how American or modern
how different you have striven to make yourself

if a picture is trapped in the head of a person, a group of people, even a whole town
that is the picture that will stay
that is the picture that they've saved

one
where you are a virus, one
where you are the shared side-glances of, Oh, it's her, one
 where where people become archaeologists, too ready to pick the bones in your conversation

that one
scars.

it welts, it bruises
but you've learned to smile through it, learned
that their picture of you isn't true now.

You are a different person now,
you are a person who is modern and smiling, humorous and clever
you have new clothes and your new goal is to be just like Penelope Garcia,
and you've written at a newspaper, learned new skills, met Whovians
you have seen the greatest city in the world, the city of the angels
you have survived the waves against your brow, your limb--

you are still scarred.

Worn.
Used.
Discarded.

Their picture will stay, though
even after you've died
it's glued, it's stuck, it's there already
so give it up.

Accept the scar.








Don't tell them how it hurts, don't
complain about how it's unfair
your words are wasted on a scar;
the skin's already warped.

Smile, pat her hand, and say,
Go anyway, and waste no words
go anyway, and have great company

pat your scar
look at a cloudy sky in an angry, small-minded town;
 in short,
survive. 

Wild: Terror

Motionless.
Bloody fingers.
No fingernails, bandaged fingertips.

Trapped.

A forest.

Screaming.

A party, going on above my head, so far above my head.

Dark.
Dark.
Dark.

Silence,
Too much.

Sobbing.
No air.
No air.
No air.

Can't breathe.
Raw throat.


It opens.
It opens.
The lid, they lift it--

White wood.
Etchings in the side.
Quenyian etchings.
Poetry.
It could be beautiful but I freeze when I see it.

They will use it
again
again
and again
to control me,
to distract me,
to harm me

because I fear it
because I have shown that I fear it
because they fucking can.


And now, years later
I wake up and look at healed fingers
I wake up and breathe the too-clean air
I wake up in her arms and she murmurs, "It's okay. You're safe."
I know she's right.

The things that truly terrify us
never truly leave.