after Fooly Cooly (FLCL)

Mamimi, go home. Tasuko
doesn't want you
anymore. He never did.
You said he rescued you from a fire
we know you caused,
but did he? Or did you think—
as you thought with Canti—
Tasuko was something
he was not?
Canti with wings incidental.
Canti with halo
that's really a junkyard wire
twisted into an antenna as a joke
by Haruko, whom you should be more like
if you want to survive this town, this life
that leaves you,
like Tasuko,
always burning—
like the quiet rage behind those pyro
sacrifices you light each night
for Canti. And Canti: no more
than a walking TV screen,
not a god, not the angel you want
or you need him to be. Who, yes,
like Tasuko's brother,
does love you—when he isn't busy
saving the world that was made for him
to save. This world
you're only one small part of for them:
training wheels for these boys
to become men to become boys.
And to everyone else:
you're background noise. At best, television static.
When you aren't just the problematic Trauma Girl
trying to fill her gaping with anything
that will stay. Taking pictures
to make anything stay
the same long enough to understand it.
Mamimi, leave this place. Take
your pictures. Take
your heartbreak. Take
your lonely never knows best cigarettes
and the cross on your backpack
to heart and start for the next place
that may make you its center.
It was never a target on your back,
Mamimi—that cross—
it's an X marks the spot.
And you: the treasure.