wish that you could be
her.
wish that you could be
a piece
of someone beautiful and
undesiring
of a new life

that you could be
a flower
and grow into your
own blossoming
self hatred.

wish that you
could be
the name that melts
in the mouths
of every lover
you never
had.

wish that you
could be
needed
(if only for a
moment)

like the last lost
flashlight
during a storm
or a steady breath of fresh,
open
air
after a long afternoon or
after an even longer
tea-stained night of
this and this and
that
or a good paint brush when
you realize
you broke your last one but
you cannot
contain
the jitters in your fingertips that
reach
for the canvas
or the wall
at the back
of your closet.


wish that you
could be
needed.

like a good kiss or
a 1:30 am walk
to the front steps of the
library
with a
pocketknife
for a sense of false
security and
independence-

or hell
for all of the above.