I want to be the me that I wanted to be when I was a kid who dreamed of being the me that I’ll be when I turn 70
I want to be a race car, a ******* rush; I want to be a daredevil on both
I want to be a tight-rope circus act, and tread daily on loose strings with firm feet and handstands
I want to be a shaman with normal senses, instead of a normal person with shamanistic pretenses
I want to look what I saw, I want to listen what I heard, I want to speak what I said with absolute, immaculate, immovable conviction
I want to be like Jim Morrison, and sail to the moon on a crystal ship
I want to be 25% pessimistic, 25% optimistic, 50% opportunistic surrealist
I want to be an Anti-Christ neutral anarchist, and go on a nihilistic bowling spree
I want to be like Jeff Lebowski
I want to be an unintentionally over-achieving burnout who’s proud of his very human frailties
I want to be my own version of Salvador Dali’s first drafts, Allen Ginsberg’s papers and Jack Kerouac’s path
I want to write serenades about melted ice-cream, burnt sausages…and similar tragedies
I want to be a comedic prophet with bad timing; I want to laugh at a funeral-my own funeral
I want to be a suicide note; an obituary that says, ‘**** Condolences! I’m dead. Now, just let me be’
And although, I’m not half the things I said I wanted to be,
I’m an ancient nutshell with reinforced-concrete casing and recent cracks that show the me that I am right now,
I’m an educated, at most times mostly illiterate kind of bloke
I’m a six feet tall hormonal speck of snowflake on snow
I’m a growing ukulele, dreaming of bursting out an improvised, deafening, soul scathing Electric guitar solo, on an amp that goes up to 11!
I’m a short-tempered, soft-spoken, heavy-breathing embodiment of all I’ve wanted to be and the things I’ll never be
But right now, I am the me, that I want to be
And all the other ‘me’s would be proud if they could see me.
