People don't really change all that much, do we?
I am not subtle. I don’t want to be, anyway. I don’t have the patience. There is too much already left unsaid as it is. When I feel something I want to yell it out to the world. I don’t want to keep it all in. I want to tell it like it is so there is no confusion, no doubt, no mistaking of intention. I want to yell and laugh and rip things apart and come really loudly and cry until my throat is dry and my eyes red as cherries. I want to never let go and never hold on and wrestle in mud and pass out from hunger or exhaustion or both. I want to be literally green with envy and high on life. I want to feel the pain of childbirth as muscles push and tear and the joy of holding new life in my hands. I want to beg and be begged and get on my knees and throw a tantrum. I want to stand up and start dancing at the most inappropriate time. I want to tell every fucking hot guy I see all the things I’d do to him if I could and if he’d let me. I want to kill myself but then I don’t and I want to stand on stage and bare it all. I want to be split open. I want to be blown away and shaken up and scared to fucking death. Then I want to be held in strong arms and lulled back into comfort. I want to stop giving a shit and to tell people to fuck off and take me seriously. I want to eat all three pieces of cake in one sitting. I want to get in a row boat and row for miles until I can’t see the shore. I’ll lay there floating with the sun in my eyes and on my skin –burning- the waves the only accompaniment to my silent monologue; the clouds my only witness. I want to get lost in oblivion. I want to forget, but not really. I want to get it all back and live it all again and turn up the volume really loud and put it in slow motion or is that fast forward? I don’t know. But that’s okay. I don’t need to know what I don’t know I just need to know how to deal with not knowing. Who knows and wants to tell me? Sharing is caring but also an obligation. Do we share because we care or because it’s the “right thing to do?” I want to be a kid again but then not really. Yet I miss the security blanket. It’s cold without it. I still have goose bumps. I want to wake up from a dream and realize I was never dreaming in the first place. I want to drown in tears of happiness. I want to feel dirty and sacred and desperate with want. I want to feel pure and calm and serene like a garden in one of Monet’s paintings. I want to be the first to know and the last one to leave. I want to disappear –fall off the face of the earth, be invisible- and look on to see who cares. I want to walk down streets –never looking back- just going and going until I reach the horizon and can kiss the sun and there’s no where to go but down, down, down. I want to giggle and bat my eyelashes and lose track of time.
I want this list to end.