leave the jagged ground exposed,
I’d rather not admit
that these wounds are self-inflicted;
rather not say that this thing is expired.
let me trip over everything preventable
to prevent myself
from overthinking.
I’d rather not be the one to have epiphanies;
rather not be the first to sign my own grave
because I’m not as naive as I’d like to be.
I wish I’d rather be different,
frowning upon stereotypes and pigeonholes.
I wish I pursued my wants
with little hesitation
and cried out my condolences at every funeral.
I’d rather lack so much composure,
because when one’s breath is so
windless,
breathing is hard to do.

and I wish that bothered me.