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.
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Editor: Kate Bartolotta
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. Reading This Takes Guts. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD.