I wish to escape the skin I’m in.
I want to peel off my layers, one by one and emerge as light.
I want to float through the free space as stardust.
I want my dry eyes to shed seeds of tears that drop to the earth and plant my words into the soil.

I wish I could drown in the sun.
Thousands of rays of light enveloping, curling around me. Ensuring warmth even with the incoming shards of glass glittering in the sky.
I want to be as light as the paper thin crystal of a butterfly’s wings.
I want to carve out my heart,
still pumping blood onto my fingertips.
I want to feel the vitality leaving my body,
still clutched in my palms.
I want to whittle away at my shoulder blades until they are smooth and form no hills on my back.
I wish I was magma ready to burst from a volcano.
I wish I had its burning intensity.

I am the melted snow.
I am a sore muscle.
I am the chewed bits of fingernail after seeing him for the third time and saying nothing.
I am not made of stardust.  
I’m made of cobwebs and 1 a.m. thoughts, dying in a room too small to hold my secrets.