i'm sick of being soft. tired of being the quiet, the delicate, the sensitive. do  not approach me for directions. give me canons. give me dynamite and fireworks. i'll balance that flame on my finger. i want that plum coloured lip. black bralettes under plush robes. six inch stilettos and a cig. ***** until i go numb. i don't care if the 3 am breeze raise goosebumbs, let me sleep on the pier if it means i get the whole night. i want to yell in conversation, argue with you until you cry. nobody will step on me. my hands are curled around kitchen knives. i want to luag h it off, laugh it off, laugh it off. i feel nothing, but somehow so, so alive-