Tired of: being an inconvenience, having a dirty apartment, looking back, moving ever-so-slowly forward, feeling so vulnerable as of late it’s almost as if my muscle is exposed, and lacking energy. I’m tired of this, that, her, him, and everything else in between. I want a break. I want to call off work, and not feel guilty. I want to look in my fridge and have options. I want to have OPTIONS. I want to come home and not skitter about, sweeping, taking the trash out, clearing off tables, and crying when I feel as if I’m sooner going to fall asleep than finally reach the end of the endless To-Do Lists I’ve somehow created for myself simply upon arriving to the place I’m supposed to call sanctuary. I want to stop feeling embarrassed for two seconds. I want to feel wanted. I want to cry, really cry, and feel relief instead of as if it’s pitch black at the end of the tunnel. I want to have my hair pulled just hard enough, hoping all the while the wall crumbles beneath the sheer force of how hard we’re fucking. I want to fall apart, and in love. Real, gut churning, mind wracking, “claw away your spine if you were to turn your back,” over-the-fence sort of addiction to where no one else understands, but they revel in the sight. I want to be absolutely terrified whenever I look in your eyes, but love every minute of it because I know you’re just as afraid. I want to live my favourite lines in all those songs I’ve been torturing myself with for years. I wanna wake up naked, next to you, kiss the curve in your clavicle. I want, I am, I want who I am to be who I want to be. I just want to be.
