1.
they nicknamed her honeycomb and she smiled sugar sweetly. they nicknamed her dandelion and she blew wishes in the wind. they nicknamed her stardust and she sparkled in the night. they nicknamed her alice, and they nicknamed her pretty, and they told her she was alright and ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
2.
alice grew fond of fairy tales and improbability. she grew fond of daydreaming and imagining, and she grew fond of fantasy. so alice had to pinch herself when the mad hatter gave her an invitation to the tea party, because she could not believe that she would finally get to visit wonderland. but she was invited, and she would be on time, with her pretty blue frock and her pretty gold locks and she was nervous but ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
3.
after the tea party, alice went home late, with her pretty frock stained red and her golden locks yanked out of her head and everything less than, much less than alright, because the hatter had hurt her and she couldn't even fight but ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
4.
he said he wanted a taste of her honey, he said he wanted a wish from her dandelion, he said he wanted to see her stardust and he tore her in two. and he soiled her with blood and tea and unholy things. and he beheaded her, like an mad king, like he reached into her chest and tore out her heart and guillotined it ruthlessly but ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
5.
she was lost in her memory of wonderland, but she roamed as if she knew the twisting paths like the back of her hand, like she was not afraid or in pain, like the impossible had not become possible and the honey had not rot, like she was not lost in a teacup, drowning at the bottom, like she still had on her pretty blue frock and her pretty blond locks and she had not been bleeding and he had not hurt her and that ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
6.
the rabbit who kept a clock ticking in her mind kept reminding her that she was running out of time, that soon they would catch the scent of her decomposing spirit and they'd taste the sour beneath the sweet, that they'd pick all her pretty petals and reveal the wilted leaves beneath, that her blue frock was staining red from all the blood she had bled--but outside she was still pretty as a daisy and she told herself "nothing can faze me," she was still an aesthetically pleasing sight and ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
7.
sometimes, at night, she wanted to go back to wonderland. sometimes, at night, the cheshire cat pretended to be the moon. sometimes, at night, she had flashbacks of the tea party and her teeth ached with the memory of sugar and her eyes went swirly, like the heart of the rabbit hole, like the irises of the mad hatter, like her sanity, slowly spiraling into oblivion but ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
8.
sometimes, she confused the ticking of clocks with the soft laughter of the hatter. sometimes her frock swirled into purple, red bleeding into blue, like the fur of the cheshire cat. sometimes alice tore out her golden locks like a sacrifice to a queen she no longer served. sometimes alice gave up to the throne of her heart to the ghosts of that night, and let the mad tyrant of memory rule her body, until she was begging for a beheading, on her knees and bloody, no longer pale and no longer pretty and no longer alright but ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
9.
ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
10.
ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
11.
ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
12.
ALICE WAS NOT ALRIGHT BUT ALICE WAS ALRIGHT.
YOU ARE READING
seams and stitching ♡ published
Poetry"this is your kind of story. no one is the good guy-- no one is the bad guy-- the blame shifts from monster to monster and in this place everyone bares their teeth." [featured. highest ranking: #6 in poetry.]
