Wannabe

I want to be so many things.

I want to be an artist; painting the silhouettes of the women I come across. Loving them and sculpting their bodies with the sand.

I want to be the stars. I’ll be endless and I’ll be an illusion. There will be no beginning or end to me. I will simply be.

I want to be a musician; playing music that flows through your ears and trickles down your spine.

I want to be the wind. I will have no home, I’ll always be on the run. I’ll see the world and touch you when the sun goes down.

I want to be the blanket that covers you, the one you hold close when the nightmares strike.

I want to be a river; untouchable. I will run my legs along the Earth’s floor, and caress the edges of the sunlight. The sound of my movement will be crisp and clear. “She was here.”

I want to be a bird, the kind that flies with one other. I will swoop down and free fall until just that very moment, when I fly upward and escape death.

I want to turn around slowly and see the reflection of Medusa. The snakes slithering against my neck, sliding and kissing the creases of my body.

I want to be a warrior. I will have a sword that cuts through all of the pain they caused me.

I want to drive away again, this time for good. I want to be infinite and ending at the same time. I want you to look at me once and never forget my face.

I want to be here and I want to be there. Anywhere. Everywhere. I want to feel touch on my skin again.

And yet, I am just me.

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