sometimes i just want to chop all of my hair off and dye it a deep purple,
but i know even then i’ll still like the
sound of spoons clinking in mugs
and i’ll still cry when i hear styrofoam
squeaking past.
sometimes i just want to buy a ticket for nowhere, anywhere,
leaving no letters, no goodbyes, but all my things neat
intact. and i will have nothing but the clothes clinging to me,
ten piercings, three tattoos, and a body too sluggish for someone
so young.
sometimes i just want to wake up at four in the morning and see what color your eyes are
when the sun hits them a certain way, with bursts of gold and specks
of pixie dust.
how do i always end these with you?
i don’t know what i want, but it always seems to be
you. you. you.