Things are starting to look up a bit.
Or rather,
I'm,
starting to look up a bit.

Things are still bad,
there's no changing that.

But I'm beginning to realize that not all the world is filled with such chaos.

I mean,
I suppose I've always believed that there was good out there.
But I've never truly believed that there was good here.
In this town,
in these walls,
in me.

However,
now I see that I've got potential.

But that's it.
For now.
Potential.

I just,
I want,
so badly,
to paint like Millais.

I want,
so badly,
to write like Sylvia Plath.

I want,
so badly,
to be ever so determined and inspired as Darwin.

I want,
so badly,
to sing and dance across the stage like Hayworth and Astaire.

But alas,
I can do none of those things.

I am just a girl.
Nothing special.
Least not to anyone else.

I cannot paint,
or dance,
or sing.

But I can live,
and breathe,
and write!

Though maybe no good at all,
by God,
I will write.

For nothing stirs my soul like the dragging of my pen across the page.
And by God nothing stirs my soul like the heat of those stage lights,
and 50 eyes upon me.

I may not be who I dream to be,
but ******,
I will continue to be,
until the stars pluck me from this Earth and dance with me.

Until my feet are lifted off the ground,
and I'm carried on clouds to Jupiter,
or Venus,
or Saturn.

And there,
there,
I shall sing with Cobain and Strummer.

And I shall laugh with Monroe and Hepburn.

And I shall write with Bukowski and Thompson.

And I shall dance with Charisse and Gene Kelly.

And I shall dine with a thousand queens,
and lay in the silkiest of sheets!

But until then,
I shall simply live.

I shall live a life devoted to words,
and I promise to write whenever inspired,
and dance whenever music plays,
and sing as loudly as I please,
simply because I can.

And I promise to be kind to the universe,
and I promise to never promptly believe unknown truths.

And above all,
I promise to live.
And breathe.
And be.

Because,
well.
The universe does indeed have plans for me.

© 2014 Rembrin Hawke