To feel ugly, and wrong, and monstrous sometimes?
And if you happen to, as I do, does it matter if it’s okay with you?
Just when I think I’m getting a grip, I falter and doubt and it all starts to slip under and away.
I want to be high and covered in colors. I want my hair twisted with bees wax and held back in a bandanna. I want my face to be sweeter, my nose to be smaller, and dotted out with a small sexy ring.
I want my arms not to jiggle and my stomach to lay flat. I want to look like I feel – what’s so fucking wrong about realizing that? Because you’re not suppose to tell them what’s on your mind.
Stop giving the game away, you pathetic little thing.
Why can’t I be earnest and not scare you all senseless?
I want to be my age and not a day older. Fuck old souls, they don’t let you live longer. I want to fit in with the things I think are wonderful – the dreds and the tats and the rings in odd places. The colors and the power and the snarls and bright eyes. I want to live in the forest under the sunshine and summer rain and play a guitar where no one can hear me who doesn’t love me. To paint my front door and paint it white and paint it again. I want to get high with flowers around me, with friend’s arms around me, with salty oceans around me, pulling me into the sea.
I’m sick of having nothing to say, and believing it’s only because of me I’m unhappy.
How is it that I can open my mouth and suddenly everyone turns away – I was cute until then, they’ve told me. If I just kept my mouth shut, kept it all in, I might have a chance at being wanted.
Of getting your attention.
But they don’t see what I see when I look at the people passing by and through and over each other. The endless stream of life – if you just reach out your fingers and touch it, then you’ve changed the whole damn thing. The bands curving and intercepting and reacting because they have no other choice. Laws of motion apply to what we cannot see…
Expression is existence, silence is nothing. With one life to live, why keep any secrets? What's the point of taking anything to the grave – the only use for it is among the living.
Why worry, they’ll forget it all eventually anyway. Why worry, they won’t really care anyway. It only matters to the people who let it matter and for the time they let it matter. Letting you know what’s on my mind is how I know I’m really here…
Right now this is what I want. Ask me tomorrow and I won’t remember. I’ll just keep slipping between dreams and frustrations, between identities – I may never settle. Today is the forest, tomorrow the library, tomorrow’s tomorrow it may just be with you. All I need is your understanding; all I need is for you to know that this is what I do. What I think is right.
It’s okay to want to be dead sometimes.
Dying means you get the chance to be reborn.
*2021 note: I do not want to die, and especially do not want to lose my life at the hands of anyone or anything else - thanks - hope you appreciate the poetry in this as it was meant to be
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