I wanted to cry myself into a hole.
I wanted to break things.
I wanted to let go of all I know and find what I don’t.
I wanted to bury myself under layers of rose bushes.
I wanted to open the windows and strip myself naked in the rain and dare the lightening to make me burn.
I wanted to ignite the anguish I have and turn it into a plea with God to change now into a then I only imagine.
I wanted to dance on my fingernails because they would break.
I wanted to feel broken and beaten so I would have a reason to give up, give in, and have no need to pretend.
I wanted to want beyond any need.
I wanted my want to stomp on need because I can negotiate want.
I wanted to deny all my needs.
I wanted to eat a bag of dove milk chocolates.
I wanted to stare at television as if a show could hold meaning.
I wanted to take love and push it up to the moon so I could land on the side I never see and see if the darkness felt light to me.
I wanted to take light and color it the color of fresh blood and drape it like a curtain across the ceiling so I could count the drops like sheep.
I wanted to sleep without dreams and dream in a way that took what is from under me.
I wanted to fold my heart into my tissue and think my tears would wash it clean.
I wanted to die for a moment until I realized dying would not release my darkness or lighten my life.
I wanted to crawl on the floor and become a caterpillar so I’d feel less like a worm and know in time I’d fly before I die.
I wanted to fly.
I wanted to remember what it’s like to have nothing but hope and promise at my fingertips.
Instead what I have is this: a moment where sanity’s sheathe dresses me in sounds I dare to make in hopes you’ll know I’m not really crazy, as I remember with the tingle of time it all matters and does not need to make sense.
Like elephant Literary Journal on Facebook
Editor: Kate Bartolotta