Part One: Born Beating Twice
A beat for the morning, a beat for the night,
A beat for this story, may you like it all right.
A beat for smiling, a beat for the old,
Who might be reading this story I wrote.
Two beats for the girl, who feels alone,
For she needs this tale, and the two hearts that I own.
A boy with two arms, two legs and one nose,
Two eyes, two ears, two hands and ten toes,
Healthy and loud, the way every mother seeks.
But with two hearts singing, he was labeled unique.
Or a freak?
Feel free to say it, I’ve had worse.
Once in the hospital I frightened the nurse.
She passed out cold, but not before pointing,
And saying aloud what all of you are thinking.
Beat, Beat.
The name’s Todd.
Part Two: Zombie Girl
Tick-tocking clocks take a toll on flocks,
Rotting thoughts and lots of storyline plots.
And my hearts, sweet and tart, could never once start,
To view you straight through for the true you.
With papier-mâché and a yellow beret,
And a skeleton made out of wire,
I used paint for your face and a necklace I made,
And your shoe was a broken toy tire.
I sculpted your heart, with patience and art,
And your hands I carved out of clay.
Even down to your hair, I tried to be fair,
But I’m still as alone as yesterday.
Your feet hit the floor, like ages before,
But tonight they are dragging alone.
We still never speak, and the tears on your cheek,
Are hidden behind hands of bone.
But I can’t say I care, such emotions are rare,
For the boy who was born with two hearts.
I did all I should, but you turned it to dust,
Like I knew you would from the start.
Part Three: Two-Heart Todd and the Ink Drawn Girl
Rain was falling, piercing
Through the layers of clothing,
Hiding her skin from the world
She was created for.
Drawn to bring pleasure to hands
That could never handle her.
Stained onto the wall, her body waits
For the storm to leave.
So she can dry her colorful flesh in the sun again.
From the pulse of a hand,
Holding out an umbrella,
Warming her skin,
Tracing her sketched body,
She tries to hide,
Ashamed,
Afraid,
Alarmed,
But the Two-Heart boy will never leave her.
She looks up, eyes glowing,
Changing colors in the rain.
“The heart I have left is broken,”
She solemnly manages to say.
And says the boy,
“You can borrow one of mine.”
Part Four: Two-Heart Todd and the Fisherman
“Call me the Fishermen Man,”
Says the man, raspy voice
Crawling through the fog,
“But it’s really your choice.”
Seated on marine barrels,
Lined across soiled docks,
A story was weaved,
Of all the things he’d done wrong.
The story was quite long.
“I am the fishermen man,
The fishermen man
With his fishermen hands,
I am the fishermen man,
But today I have no fish.”
A hard-worked hand moves up,
Only to brush away the long blond hair,
And the pressure grew stronger,
As he heartily breathed in ocean air.
“But dear boy, this fisherman
Was meant for the stage.
This is why
I was never a good fishermen man.”
(this is blogging, foreign to myself, I will write things).
