Shakespeare was not a killer. Dickens was not an orphan. And I read on the New York Times that psychopaths had no sense of mercy. So we went biking down the dead-end street and flung our arms out to embrace the rain like they did in the movies. Except instead of falling in love and having ten kids, we hit the curb and fell back into reality, headfirst. That’s when my six-year-old sister said “life’s tough” and so I walked jogged sprinted past Dairy-Queen and woke up with my eyes wide open in a graveyard.



I am not an orphan. Yet I still stand in the middle of a hurricane and fall down the rabbit hole with nothing but a golden fruit clenched in my hands because I wouldn’t let go. She said he said they said “you’ll never be alone” and so I jumped off the Empire State building and hit the concrete, headfirst.



Yesterday night, you took me by the hand and led me blindfolded up your staircase. I thought we’d leave our plaid uniforms behind and speed down the desert road, just you and me, Bonnie and Clyde. But instead, you gave me a pair of wings and we flew out the broken window the mirror on the wall, to the sky. I held my head up high and looked to heaven with snakes in my eyes but I flew too close and hit the sun I fell to Tartarus, headfirst.



I am not a killer. They said I’ll die just like everybody else but maybe I should go first I should burn first. I tore at the ropes when they cut my hair until the skin of my wrists ripped tore bled to flesh. I said God would punish you all but they said they were blessed and so I cried. I cried and welcomed the daunting flames as Abel followed Cain into the scarlet field the graveyard the murder.
Last summer, I pushed my tiny wooden sailboat into the ocean and chased the arched horizon. I had hoped I’d fall off the edge of the world and find myself in a blissful ignorant paradise; but instead I hit a rocky beach in China and asked my grandma “where’s your prince charming?” She said he’s fighting dragons in another world. I believed her. But now I’m fighting a losing battle I can’t win I can’t see. Maybe I should open my eyes even wider and look at the world even harder because there’s a thin layer of mist I can’t penetrate. She said, “it’s a mousetrap” I said I don’t understand I can’t he said “don’t you dare.”



I am not a psychopath. Though even if I were, I wouldn’t know it. I’d still wander the empty hallways late night after school like a troubled spirit disturbing the night. But she drove me to the beach that night and found an empty seashell with only forgotten memories left in its opalescent walls. I thought she could see me crying but she didn’t because my tears were salty, too, and they flowed right back into the vast gray sea. And that’s when I saw the skyline for the first time. Stretched out like a red line. I put on my fancy blue hat with the long velvet streamer and dove into the water like a fishhook, headfirst.



Hand me the Golden Sword, but I’ll never be the knight in shining armor. I’ll always push my brother into the flames and run far far away from the burning forest. I’ll always stand on the sidelines and put cotton balls in my ears so I wouldn’t hear the gunshots. I’ll never be Thich Quang Duc and self-immolate I’ll hand him the matchstick the holy guillotine and hide my eyes from heaven. Even though I go to sleep every night with a blade under my pillow, there’ll always be someone there to bring me tomorrow.



Maybe one day I’ll put on my jeans again and ride my bike down the unmapped highway. I’ll taste the sky and flee from reality. I’ll chase time and hold on to infinity. And I’ll Ride headfirst so I’ll never, ever wake up.