spring break, day 5.

It’s the kind of day that makes me wish
I lived in Miami: grey,
rainy,
depressing to say the least. I start into
the fog, wondering questions that I
probably shouldn’t be wondering.  How did
I become so fucked up? What if
I ran away? What if
I never existed? What if
I die in the next 24 hours? Would anyone
even care? I know the
answer; of course someone
would care. I don’t want to
believe that, though. Sometimes
I think my life is meaningless.
I shouldn’t think that way.
You shouldn’t have read that.
But I’m keeping this honest, and
today is just one of those days where
I think I can’t feel any emotion. Just
bland acceptance; boxed
mashed potatoes with no salt.
I want to touch the moon. The
fog parts, the
clouds part, and
I see the moon.
I want to run my finger though
the dust, tell the world that I
have bottled moonlight. I want to
shrink the oceans down to size and
drink it; I want to
burn all the forests and forever wear
the ashes around my neck; I want to
have the sun,
stars, and
universe to be held in
a glass marble that sits on
a silver band on my
ring finger. I want to
dance in sun-streaked wheat fields,
talk with primroses,
learn the secrets of the trees. I want to
be anywhere but here. I want to
destroy broken hearts,
walk barefoot over broken glass,
keep broken promises in a leather-bound
notebook underneath my bed mattress. I want to
dye my hair neon blue,
wear two-sizes-too-small tank tops,
break my ankles wearing 5-inch
black leather boots. I want to
break free of all the pain I carry,
both physical and
emotional. I want to
have blue feather wings and
learn to fly. I want to be
f r e e. I want to be
alone.
 
But I also want
someone to love me in the way that
he did, only in person.
Damn.
Now I realize how much
I want
love.