One Day

When you’re staring as the words
One Day
Roll through your mind
And tumble in your chest
And you’re hoping
And wishing
And aching
And knowing
All too well
That such things
Are useless

That you can stack your hopes
A mile high
And heaven will still be somewhere out there
Out of reach
Out of sight
Just a thought
To graze your heart
And raise mountains of longing
In your soul

When you had a taste of
The only thing you want
Concretely
Definitely
In such a way that no doubt exists
When doubt holds your hand
And walks you through life
With quiet kisses
And soft murmurings
But here she is gone
This she has not
Cannot
touch

But you know
Oh gods do you know
That one day
One day
One
day
Even these drops of water
Falling on
A parched tongue
Will be gone

I Want Normal

I want normal.
Except.
What even is normal?
So maybe I don’t want normal.

But I don’t want this.
I don’t want a house that isn’t a home.
I want a building I look forward to entering
And humans
That don’t lie in wait with insults
And anger
And untruths.
I don’t want this fear that rolls across my skin
Like mist after a storm of acid rain.
I don’t want the insistent pull of dread on my sternum when I think of pulling my car into that gravel driveway.

I want faces that welcome me.
Not faces that remind me
That I do not belong
Not even to those whose DNA I share.

I have wanted this for years.
After He left,
With his violent rage
And the turmoil
That coated our walls
I thought I could finally have it
A home
A safe place

But instead,
These walls have lost what little security they had
And they begin to feel like a shirt made of burlap ~
Uncomfortable and unwanted,
But as a covering, necessary.

Sometimes I Wish

I am different. I am special, is what kindergarten teachers would tell me, then give me a sticker to get rid of the frown beginning to tug on my face.

And if I were five years old again, I would muse over those words for a second or two before bouncing off to proudly display my prize.

But I am not five. I am 19 and there is no sticker, just all my quirks sticking out in such a way that I don’t I don’t have a place to fit in.

I don’t fit into any religion, can’t attend a service of any kind without feeling like a liar. I can’t sit in a school classroom without biting my tongue to keep from saying something that sounds crazy to everyone else or being the quiet, studious one because I am the only one who cares. I can’t walk into my house without being told that there is something wrong with me because I am either too much or not enough.

That is my life in a nutshell. Either too much or not enough. Too loud, not loud enough. Too quiet, not quiet enough. Too weird, not weird enough. Too adventurous, not adventurous enough. I care too much, I care too little. I read too much, I read too little. I am either too emotional or not emotional enough. I love too little or too much.

Sometimes

Sometimes I wish I was normal.

Sometimes I wish I was sexual.

Then I wouldn’t have to worry about what will happen when my person wants sex. Or, if that never happens because that relationship is no longer a romantic one, that I will meet someone else and love that person, but again, I can’t promise that I will ever want to have sex or they will feel like a jerk for wanting sex. Or have to constantly explain myself because everyone just assumes what is their truth. Or sit there feeling naive because, oh look, I forgot for a second that the rest of the world is sexual so of course someone just tried to kiss me.

Sometimes I wish there wasn’t a god. Any of them. That atheists are right and there is nothing.

Life would be so much simpler. I wouldn’t have to worry about two kinds of depression. I wouldn’t have to sit there, trying to figure out where I stand with one, much less any of them.

Sometimes I wish that I could break the promises I made.

But who I am doesn’t allow me to do that so I wait for ways out or wind up barely breathing under the heaviness of the load I want to carry but I’m not sure I can.

Sometimes I wish I was invisible.

I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting people with my strange workings and slight emotional indifference. I wouldn’t have to watch people get hurt by whatever I am going through or have people avoid me because I am so strange spiritually. I would crave human interaction still, but at least I wouldn’t be affecting anyone negatively.

Sometimes I wish…

Sometimes I just wish. Sometimes all I am is a collection of wishes. Of desires. To be more and to be less. To somehow be something, someone, that I am not. Because who I am doesn’t fit. A girl with an opinion and a critical eye who asks questions and challenges traditions doesn’t belong in a church, she doesn’t belong in a classroom, she most certainly doesn’t belong in her family, as she is told on a daily basis. Her god doesn’t even know what to do with her. The only place she does belong is alone. That is the only place she can have opinions and think thoughts and sing and dance and laugh whenever she wants to and dream mad, crazy things and talk to the stars without being told to fit into a box. But she doesn’t belong alone either, because songs and laughter and dreams are meant to be shared, because who can she be making happy if there is no one around to make happy.

Sometimes I wish life wasn’t so complicated. Sometimes I wish I was normal.

But sometimes, sometimes all I really wish for is for the wishing to stop.