I want him.
I want his beautiful blue eyes, blazing with desire and love
his soft, full lips, tracing my entire body and taking my own lips as prisoners of war
kissing me, kissing him with everything we've got,
everything we've kept in, pouring out in this kiss
I want to trace his face with my fingertips,
from his short blonde hair gripped in my tiny hands
to his smooth cheeks and his strong jawline and cup his face in my hands
planting lovemarks on his muscular neck in a shape of a circle; our never ending sign of love
I want to whisper sweet nothings and love poems into the curves of his shoulder;
the place where his shoulder and neck meets and that little soft spot,
near his collarbone
I want to outline his chest with words of forever with my hands
sketching an imaginary pattern of hope, want and passion
taking his callused hands in my soft, velvety one
embedding little butterfly kisses in his palms,
just little shadows of them, quick and gentle,
lightly brushing my lips against his lovely hands
I want his entire self,
giving up all of me to him and him, all to me
hushed words of sweet pleasure escaping from our mouths
like little wisps of smoke, trailing over our bodies that move in perfect harmony
I want his everything,
I want nights spent under the Michigan stars, cuddling against each other
talking about all the randomness in the universe
I want to fall asleep to his steady heartbeat with blankets as our only armour
after giving myself to him, a gift of true love to which I will never regret
I want forever and eternity with him, growing up and getting married
having little blonde kids, watching them run around the house and us laughing at all their silliness
and growing old with him, looking at him each and everyday
with the ever present butterflies in my stomach
doing somersaults and flips off the high dive every time I see him,
even after 50 years together
I want to hold him on his death bed, or he holding me when my time comes
I want us to have our small eternity just like Hazel and Augustus
and our almost happy ever after because even though nothing is perfect,
our ending will be the closest to perfection as possible
I want him forever and always,
just him,
only him,
from now to eternity.

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.

I want to scream


I want to melt


I want to *****


I want to breathe


I want to survive


I want to sleep


I want to dream


I want to be more than I have been the past few days


I want to eat right and sleep right and exercise


I want to start being able to think enough to write things that rhyme


I want to stop saying "I want" all the time


I'm sad.

You don’t know, do you?
That, in a crowded place, my eyes will always search for you
one thousand miles away
in a different country
somewhere you couldn’t possibly be
I’ll look for you
and I’ll see you there
in every pair of brown eyes
in every head of short, dark hair
in every walk that is just a bit too confident
you’ll come to my mind
your name will sound in my ears
and every memory of you will play like
an old film before my eyes
a bit faded
jumping over some parts
but holding the greatest stories
it will hurt when logic finds its way through
like the heat of the projector lamp
the movie will burn away leaving nothing but
an understanding that
this is
not
real

-h.n.g