Remember that time when the TARDIS got painted pink…
…and the Doctor kind of liked it?
we never called you trouble
because it was too small a word;
you were thunder boiling in the blue,
stealing sunlight and starlight
and anything in between.
we ignored you underneath
dinner-tables and bed-frames,
pretending that if we never saw you,
you would never hurtle through
with whirlwind eyes
to shatter our windowpanes
and tear claw-marks into
our plaster walls-
_
faith clary
go ahead and sing me a lullaby
of broken hearts and stitched-up glass,
tap your feet to the whispers
of june bugs and end-of summer dreams,
play me a piece on how
you can never quite tune up
that twisted spine of yours,
‘cause you know I’ll be waiting
in between the red and the blue
to catch a glimpse of your palms
painted white and black like
your intentions.
_
faith clary
tardismedia took down ‘Remembrance of the Daleks’ and I can’t find anywhere else to watch it. I thought I’d found a link on ovguide but the video player gave me a Hulu documentary about horseback riders and ugh. Horses have nothing to do with Daleks.
My mother hates the fact that I dress in an androgynous style. And apparently every other adult around her does too, because they keep ragging on her about how it’s terrible that I dress like a guy and that I refuse to get contacts or have my ears pierced, because it’s supposedly the worst thing ever that I don’t embrace my womanly side and walk around in cleavage shirts and short-shorts.
I feel bad that she has to deal with so much more of that than she should, but I’m not comfortable rearranging my entire wardrobe to make other people happy when I know it won’t make me happy in return.
Midnight is the grandest time to write
because you are surrounded
by the thrum of other people’s dreams,
by the steady ebb and flow of breath and heartbeat,
by the soft light of the moon,
fantasies beginning to stir in your soul.
At midnight you are caught
hanging somewhere between
full night and full day,
locked in a twilight all by yourself-
it’s the real you that comes out
in the midst of tiredness,
so listen to what your weary bones
want to tell you.
_
faith clary
