I wanted to be a part of the couch
& my fantasies come untrue. I wanted to be
a reality t.v. character
saying entertaining & crude things,
getting drunk & stupid,
crying & calling back home.
I wanted to be the girl
from a movie with an inspiring title,
looking romantically lost
with her eyes in the rain
waiting to have her inhibitions & dress torn off.
I wanted to be crushed grapes & tears in a glass
& my feelings at the bottom of ice cream cartons.
I wanted to be every stereotype of heartbreak
until I scraped myself off pillows soaked with my sorrows
until I opened a goddamn window & let the outside wink at me through the blinds.
I wanted to be my own private mess
until I gave up on giving up
until I not only had but gave
until this state of being
left without telling me.
My smeared focus
started to sharpen. this representation of me was no longer fitting.
This on sale version of me asking to be worn & loved at the cost of a lower value was a chapter but not my whole story. Once the map of all my thoughts, you became just a stop. A point to gather myself & move on. There's too much I have to see out there.